LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

/*~J    f*        t~*  • 

Class 


f  r  i  vrrrri  XVT  jjpTT  rTTT^rTi  YTTT  v  y  T^  TT*  T  T  T  TIE*  riTmyt  TTTTiry  TT 

IF. ^j^gd PH-H rf jj.!-1  H H nj.i-ijri rj  P F.r1^ HFHB*^ r!: 


ATTLE 


LLADS 


. 


-r.  -.-.-.-,  .-  rrrrrn  .  .  .....  r^TT  ........  rrrrnT  .  .  i  .  .  .  ......  .  .—  —  -    .  ir..i..i.-.  t77rrrnT?i^Tr77rT7777rit7..r^^.  ^-7^77^7!  ^7..  .  rrr 


BATTLE 

BALLADS 


merson  j^rooks. 


SAN  FRANCISCO : 
PUBLISHED  FOR  THE  AUTHOR. 

1886. 


Lf^r  • 
. 


COPYRIGHT  APPLIED  FOR. 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED. 


RICHARD  C.  SHAW,  PRINTER, 
429  Montgomery  St. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Confederate  Pig, 7 

Grant  Memorial — 

The  Funeral  of  the  Mountains, 11 

Halt! 14 

Crazy   Vet, 16 

Guns, 19 

The  Nation's  Dead, 26 

G.'A.  R.       .        .        , 35 

Camp-fire, .36 

Blossoms  for  the  Brave, 37 

Open  the  Gate! 39 

The  Colonel's  Little  Joe, 43 

Blind  Joe, 50 

Lee  at  Appomattox, 53 

Lee  to  the  Confederate  Flag, 54 

Sherman  at  Shiloh, ..  57 

JIalleck's  Dry  Battle  at  Corinth, 63 

By  Camp-fire  and  Fireside, 66 

Surgeon  Puff! 67 

Song  of  the  Ensign,        . 73 

The  Little  "Confederate," .76 

The  Mutilated  Soldier, 80 

Potomac,              86 

Independence  Day — 

The  First  Known   Yankee  Notion,          ...  99 

Our  Country, 103 

Apostrophe  to  the  Eagle, 112 

01 


Pat's  Confederate  Pig. 


PAT'S  CONFEDEKATE  PIG. 

When  the  war  broke  out  Pat  was  first  to  enlist; 
He'd  fight  wid  shillaly  or  fight  wid  his  fist. 

Now  Patrick  was  fresh  from  the  ould,  ould  sod, 
And  carried  a  gun  as  he'd  carry  a  hod. 

He'd  soon  learn  to  shoot  it,  he  said,  without  doubt, 
If  they'd  put  in  the  load  while  he'd  watch  it  come  out ; 

But  when  he  had  shot  it  he  said  he  had  ruther 

Be  pricked  wid  the  one  end  than  kicked  wid  the  other. 

His  rations  of  whiskey  he'd  drink  at  one  swig; 
And  never  mark  time  but  he'd  end  with  a  jig. 

They  went  to  the  front :  Pat  thought  it  was  hard, 
The  very  first  night  to  be  put  upon  guard, 

Yet  he  paced  back  and  forth,  out  in  the  night  air,  , 
Behearsing  his  "halt"  and  his  "Who  goes  there." 

"I'm  to  shoot  at  the  Eebs,  and  aim  at  the  heart — 
But  how  is  a  stranger  to  tell  'em  apart?" 


Pat's  Confederate  Pig. 


"I'll  know  Mr.  Eebel,  the  officers  say, 

By  the  clothes  he  has  on,  supposed  to  be  gray. 

Is  a  gentleman  judged  by  the  cut  of  his  clothes, 
As  a  toper  is  told  by  the  tint  of  his  riose  ? 

"But  how  can  I  tell  if  he  come  in  the  dark  ? 
Must  I  judge  of  the  tree  by  feelin'  the  the  bark? 

I'll  be  sure  of  his  wardrobe,  bedad,  ere  I  shoot ! 
To  be  the  right  man  he  must  wear  the  wrong  suit  I 

I  think  I'll  surround,  him  the  first  thing  I  say, 
Then  axe  him  this  question:  Your  coat,  is  it  gray? 

But  I  swear  by  the  whiskey  that's  in  my  canteen 
I'll  not  trouble  him  if  he's  wearing  the  green." 

'Tis  late  in  the  night — all  the  camp  is  asleep — 
When  Pat  hears  a  noise  that  makes  his  flesh  creep  ! 

Something  crawls  through  the  brush!  Pat  holloes  out  "halt!" 
And  "Who  goes  there  ?    If  you're  deaf,  it's  your  fault !" 

All  he  hears  is  r-r-ruff !  r-r-ruff!  That  sounds  like  a  grunt — 
"He's  a  rough  sure,"  said  Pat,  "for  his  language  is  blunt — 


Pats  Confederate  Pig. 


March  here  and  surrender  me,  Eeb,  or  you  die  ! 
Come !  out  wid  yer  business !  I'll  bet  you're  a  spy ! " 

U-g-h-w-e-e !  U-g-h-w-e-e !  "Holy  murther !  What  language 

is  that  ? 
'Tis  some  foreign  tongue,  I'll  be  blowed  !  "  muttered  Pat. 

"An  officer  sure — but  betwixt  you  and  me, 
Is  the    whole    army    wid   ye  ?"    U-g-h-vi-e-e !    U-g-h-w.e-e  I 
U-g-h-w-e-e  I    U-g-h-w-e-e  I 

"We !  we  I"  muttered  Pat;  "surely  that's  French,  for  yet 
I'll  capture  an  army !    Hold,  aisy — I  guess 

I'd  better  have  help — so  I'll  call  up  the  crowd, — 
The  Eebels  are  on  us !"  he  cries  out  aloud. 

"The  Eebels  are  on  us !"     Out  rush  the  whole  corps, 
Surrounding  the  wood,  which  they  quickly  search  o'er, 

Then  sweep  through  the  brush  at  a  double-quick  jog; 
But  all  they  can  find  is  a  dirty  white  hog. 

They  cursed  till  they  laughed  and  laughed  till  they  cried. 
For  rousing  the  army,  next  day  Pat  was  tried. 

"Court-martialed  ?  "  said  Pat — "My  offense  is  not  big, 
Why  not  try  the  army  for  rousin'  the  pig  ? 


10  Pat's  Confederate  Pig. 

But  since  I've  no  lawyer  to  fix  *up  my  case 
Wid  fiction — I'll  gi  e  ye  the  truth  in  its  place. 

He  came  in  the  night,  wid  a  lie  in  his  mouth, 
Just  like  a  Confederate,  straight  from  the  South. 

I  axed  him  this  question,  for  I  couldn't  see: — 

Are  you,  sir,  a  spy  ?    Then  he  answered :     We  !  we  I 

As  I  am  a  soldier,  I'll  ne'er  dance  a  jig — 
But  he  was  a  Kebel  disguised  as  a  pig. 

I've  brought  into  court,  to  confirm  what  I  say, 
These  bristles,  that  prove  he  was  wearin'  the  "gray." 

JTwas  all  that  was  left  me,  I'm  sad  to  relate — 
The  rest  of  the  pig,  sirs,  you  officers  ate. 

To  speak  out  me  moind,  sure  I'll  die  but  it's  true, 
There's  many  a  pig  here  that's  wearin'  the  blue !!" 


The  Funeral  of  the  Mountains  1.1 


THE  FUNEBAL  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

Delivered  at  Oakland,  California,  at  the  Grant  Memorial  Ceremony, 
August  8,  1885. 


Mourn,  Great  McGregor,  mourn !  Thou  youngest  of 

The  mountains  newly  born ;  bow  down  thy  head 

And  weep  into  the  valley  rivulets 

Of  tears.     Draw  'round  the  close  thy  somber,  dark 

And  heavy  robe  of  pines.    It  is  thy  cloak 

Of  mourning  and  thy  crape ;  thou  hast  most  need 

To  mourn  being  most  blessed.     But  yesterday 

Thou  wert  unknown  and  insignificant ; 

To-day  thou  art  immortal  made  because 

Thou  art  the  death-bed  of  our  loved  Grant, — 

Because  the  Nation's  hero  made  of  thee 

A  stepping-stone  to  heaven. 

Thou  art  become 

The  country's  shrine,  where  weeping  Liberty 
Hath  come  to  shed  her  tears.     Around  thy  base 
Is  marshaled  that  innumerable  host 
Of  soldiers  slain  in  Freedom's  cause,  and  with 
Them  is  the  captive  throng  in  gray — with  heads 
Uncovered  all,  beneath  one  flag  that  droops 
Fresh  wet  with  heaven's  tears,  the  dew.     Those  coats 
Which  once  were  blue  have  faded  into  gray ; 


32  The  Funeral  of  the  Mountains. 

Grave-ashes  gives  one  color  to  them  all. 

With  guns  all  stacked,  within  the  silent  wood 

They  stretch  their  phantom  tents  in  bivouac  weird — 

A  specter  guard — Grand  Army  of  the  dead ! 

Thy  cooling  breeze  hath  kissed  his  fevered  cheek 

These  long,  long  waiting  hours  so  gratefully ; 

Thy  sentry  pines  swayed  with  the  fleeting  pulse 

And  whispered  undisturbingly :  "All 's  Well !" 

When  all  was  o'er,  their  wailing  message  went 

Along  the  clouds,  that  fleecy  telephone, 

To  Lookout  Mount,  whose  rusty  cannon's  boom 

Seemed  like  the  tolling  clock  of  destiny 

Slow  striking  Sixty  Three. 

For  such  an  one 

No  common  sepulture !     Be  thou  his  bier, 
His  catafalque !     Let  battle-mountains  be 
His  fun'ral  train !     Call  Lookout  from  the  clouds, 
With  Mission  Eidge,  Ball's  Bluff  and  Malvern  Hill, 
South  Mountain,  Champion  Hill,  Great  Cumberland. 
Pea  Eidge,  and  those  that  shut  in  Gettysburg ; 
With  Eural  Hill  and  Drury's  Bluff,  the  heights 
Of  Maryland  and  Harper's  Ferry  walls, 
With  those  that  frown  on  Shenandoah's  plain  ; 
Each  hill  where  war  hath  plowed  great  furrows  up — 
Each  slope  with  human  abatis  of  slain — 
Each  mound  where  fiery  battle-steeds  have  pranced, 
Impatient  of  the  smoke.    E'en  that  small  knoll 
At  Appomattox,  where  Kebellion  gave 


The  Funeral  of  the  Mountains 


Its  saber  up  and  Slavery  made  her  tomb; 
Let  heaven,  muffling  up  her  thunder  drum, 
Sound  reveille,  to  summon  all  to  this 
Great  funeral.     In  military  line, 
Procession  make  with  solemn  obsequies  ; 
While  ocean  waves  on  cither  shore,  in  great 
Sabaoth,  Triste  Vale  chant. 

With  pick 

And  spade  think  not  to  make  thy  hero's  bed  I 
In  Donelson's  firm  walls  impregnable, 
His  mausoleum  make  —  fit  catacomb  — 
And  soldier-like,  wrapped  in  his  country's  flag, 
There  let  him  hold  the  fort  for  evermore. 

Take  shattered  cannon  from  the  battle-field, 
Well  moulten  in  hot  Sumpter's  crucible, 
And  cast  a  monument  o'er-topping  that 
Of  Liberty  enlightening  the  world; 
And  on  its  base  inscribe  with  sabre  point  — 
Our  Hero  dead,  who  never  battle  lost, 
To  heaven  surrendered  unconditional. 


14  Halt! 


HALT ! 

Delivered  in  connection  with  "'The  Funeral  of  Ui£  Mountains"  at  the 
Grant  Memorial  Ceremony,  Oakland,  Cal.t  Aug.  8,  1885. 


High  on  the  Nation's  adamant, 

To  tell  to  future  age  the  story, 
There  Fame  has  chiseled  "U.  S.  Grant," 

And  time  but  gilds  it  o'er  with  glory. 

Round  Washington  doth  crystalize 
Old  Revolution's  splendid  story ; 

While  U.  S.  Grant  doth  symbolize  i 
Our  great  Rebellion's  modern  glory. 

When  Slavery  clanked  her  heavy  chain 
'Gainst  Sumpter's  wall,  so  old  and  hoary, 

It  'roused  that  spirit  born  to  gain 
The  Nation's  love,  a  world  of  glory. 

When  Freedom  tore  her  banner  down 
To  staunch  the  blood  of  heroes  gory, 

For  aye,  at  Appomattox  town, 
'Twas  raised  by  thee  in  ten-fold  glory. 


Halt!  15 

Presenting  arms,  they  wait  for  you, 
'Those  comrades  erst  of  field  and  foray; 

Now  standing  there  in  grand  review, 
,A11  marshaled  on  the  field  of  glory. 

When  by  the  camp-fire's  told  again, 

In  anecdote,  rebellion's  story, 
In  lasting  bivouac  with  your  men,; 

Sleep  !  'neath  the  sentry  guard  of  glory ! 

Thy  name  shall  nerve  the  saber  stroke, 
Whene'er  through  field,  with  banner  gory, 

Great  soldiers  chase,  through  battle  smoke, 
Hard  after  fame,  to  die  for  glory. 

The  eagle  sits  with  folded  wing — 

Who  followed  thee  through  battles  gory — , 

To  be  thy  consort  now,  and  bring 
Thy  spirit  to  the  King  of  Glory. 

The  sun  shines  through  the  window  there, 

And  angles  beckon  mandatory, 
While  coming  down  its  golden  stair, 

To  take  our  hero  up  to  glory. 

Pile  flowers,  sweet  prayers,  to  touch  the-sky ! 

An  offering  propitiatory ! 
Till  he,  with  all  the  host  on  high, 

Shall  catch  the  perfume  there  in  glory. 


16  Crazy  Vet. 


CEAZY  VET. 


Just  stand  aside  thar  stranger  I 
I  reckon  I'll  see  fair  play  I 
For  I,  too,  was  a  soldier, 
Though  I  wore  Confederate  gray  1 
But  I'll  not  see  a  veteran 
Abused  by  swells  like  you, — 
For  four  years  fightin'  taught  me 
To  respect  that  coat  of  blue  / 

Abusin'  a  war-worn  soldier, 

By  callin'  him  "Crazy  Vet," 

Is  a  mighty  poor  way,  I'm  thinkin', 

O'  payin'  a  Nation's  debt ! 

You  say  :  "his  head  was  injured 

By  a  bit  of  flying  shell?" 

Well  I've  a  durned  good  notion 

To  crack  your  skulls  as  well  1 

I  want  to  tell  ye  my  story : 
When  I  joined  "Stonewall  Jack./' 
My  mother  and  sister  had  plenty 
To  last  'em  till  I  got  back ; 


Crazy  Vet.  17 


When  up  came  "Mosby's  guerillas" 
And  robbed  'em  of  all  they  had  I 
But  heaven  kept  'em  from  starvin', 
By  sendin'  a  Union  lad ! 

The  advance  of  the  Yankee  army, 
Brought  my  home  within  their  lines ; 
And  that  young  colonel's  camp-fire 
Was  just  beneath  our  pines ! 
He  filled  my  mother's  larder 
With  the  best  he  had  in  store ! 
And  what  with  his  foragin'  soldiers, 
The  house  could  hold  no  more ! 

When  1  came  home,  this  story 
Was  told  me,  again  and  again  ; 
While  tears  of  regret  came  often, 
To  think  I  had  fought  such  men  ! 
But  now  I'm  worth  my  thousands, 
And  looking  for  colonel  Grace  ! 
And  after  months  o'  sarchin' 
I'm  told  he's  about  this  place  I 

I'd  like  ye  to  help  me  find  him : — 
Great  Scott !  What's  that  ye  say  ! 
This  is  the  man  I'm  seekin' 
That  you've  tormented  that  way  ? 


18  Crazy  Vet. 


To  send  you  home  to  the  Devil, 
Would  be  treatin'  you  far  too  well  I 
I  would — but  that  the  "new  version" 
Explodes  the  old  fashioned  heU  I 

No !  no  !  I  begs  forgivness — 
I'm  rather  rough  in  my  way — 
God  bless  you  for  this  reunion 
Between  the  "blue  and  the  gray  !" 
I'll  seek  some  skillfull  surgeon 
And  repair  the  ill  that's  done  ; 
Then  take  him  back  to  my  mother, 
Who  calls  him  her  blue-coat  son. 

And  I  don't  mind  yer  knowin' 
I've  got  a  sister  fair, — 
A  wealth  of  love  in  her  bosom — 
A  wealth  of  gold  in  her  hair — 
And  these  two — wall,  no  mp  tter  1 
Just  you  say  "Crazy  Vet" 
And  I'll  start  another  Rebellion 
And  clean  out  you  Yanks,  you  bet  I " 


Guns.  19 


GUNS. 

Hear  the  cracking  of  the  rifle, 
Hear  the  ball,  that  leaden  trifle, 

Whizzing  by  ! 

Whizzing  by  ?  O,  that  will  do, 
But  suppose  it  should  go  through  ? 

Would  we  die  ? 

O,  'tis  such  a  fatal  skill, 

Where  each  ball  is  meant  to  kilb— 

Where  'tis  known, 
That  for  every  missile  borne, 
Some  frail  uniform  is  torn, 
Wife  or  mother  left,  to  mourn, 

All  alone. 

"Tis  the  nation's  firm  command  I 
It  is  done  to  save  the  land, 

And  the  slave  ! 

Ah  !  but  there's  another  reason, 
No  strange  banner  flaunting  treason, 

Here  may  wave  !    * 


20 


Swift  from  musket's  polished  steel, 
Comes  the  message  :  woe  or  weal, 

Mostly  woe  ; 

Soldiers  shoot  as  if  they  meant  it, 
Bullet  comes  as  if  Death  sent  it, 

From  the  foe. 

From  its  course,  nor  turns  nor  trends  ; 
Makes  a  wound  no  surgeon  mends, 

And  a  flood  I 

Soldier  drops  from  out  the  ranks, 
Dearly  earns  the  nation's  thanks, 

With  his  blood. 

And  that  bayonet  you  know,  sir, 
Is  for  argument  much  closer, 

Than  before; 

While  each  point  is  such  debate, 
Seals  some  noble  fellow's  fate, 

Evermore. 

That  great  question  is  decided  — 
Nation  shall  not  be  divided  I 

Look,  how  pale 

Are  those  cheeks  that  once  were  ruddy, 
While  the  blue-coats,  torn  and  bloody, 

Tell  the  tale. 
I 


Guns.  21 

What  is  that  unearthly  rattling  ? 
That's  another  gun,  by  Gatling ; 

How  it  c-r-a-c-k-s ! 
'Tis  no  birthday  of  the  nation  I 
Tliis  is  Death's  own  celebration  I 

Firing  packs 

Of  great  crackers !    Turn  the^crank, 
Horrors  rattle  out  in  flank, 

Sum  untold ! 

Aimed  at  yonder  gray  battalion, 
Where  fate  rides  a  fretting  stallion, 

Uncontrolled. 

There  are  guns  that  speak  much  louder ; 
There  are  guns  that  use  more  powder, 

Stronger  death. 
Belching  fire  across  the  way, 
Like  volcanoes  in  full  play  1 

Deadly  breath  I 

From  yon  atmosphere  of  smoke, 
Some  artillerist's  keen  stroke 

Hath  cut  down 

Swath  on  swath,  that  doth  betoken, 
Mother-hearts  will  soon  be  broken, 

In  the  town. 


Guns. 

Had  he  seen  that  wife's  hot  tears  ; 
Known  the  grief  to  last  for  years — 

Widowhood ! 

He'd  have  turned  away  that  gun  ; 
He'd  have  left  that  mother's  son, 

Where  he  stood. 

Polished  brass  gleams  in  the  sun, 
When  the  day's  red  work  is  done  I 

And  the  lawn 

Is  much  redder  where  they  fall : 
At  next  morning's  dread  roll  call 

They  are  gone. 

Dropping  in  another  quarter, 
From  volcanic  mouth  of  mortar, 

Meteors  fall ! 

O !  that  most  destructive  shell, 
Bit  of  concentrated  hell, 

In  a  ball. 

How  the  cannon  boom  1  and  boom ! 
Hoarsly  shouting,  room !  make  room  I 
How  they  sing  of  sudden  doom — 

Such  a  tune ! 

How  the  round-shot  seem  to  roll 
On  some  unsuspecing  soul — 

All  too  soon. 


Guns.  23 


Playing  skittles  through  the  air  ; 

Making  always  strike  or  spare- 
As  they're  bowled  ! 

Like  a  ball  hurled  down  death's  alley, 

At  the  ten-pins  in  the  valley, 
Manifold. 

Do  they  ape  that  ancient  flood ; 
Letting  out  so  much  choice  blood 

In  the  dust  ? 

Will't  corrode  chains  that  enthrall, 
Or  make  slavery's  shackles  fall ! 

By  its  rust  ? 

Were  each  drop  of  blood  a  dime, 
All  the  slaves  in  southern  clime 

Could  be  bought ! 
Buying  slaves  to  set  them  free, 
Does  not  crush  out  slavery  I 
'  It  must  be  fought. 

Blood's  cement,  though  'tis  not  coin, 
And  will  severed  nation  join  ; 

Well  it  might ! 
While  rebellion  is  a  thing, 
That  on  battles  smoky  wing, 

Must  take  flight. 


24  Guns. 

Do  you  want  that  little  spot, 
Where  the  fort  stands  reeking  hot, 

'Bound  the  city  ? 
Must  you  go  and  batter  down 
Those  great  walls  and  half  the  town  ? 

What  a  pity ! 

Should  some  earthquake  come  at  night, 
Swallow  city  out  of  sight  ; 

Men  would  say : 
"  What  a  Bad  and  awful  fate ; 
Like  the  horrors  they  relate 

Of  Pompeii." 

Yet  those  guns  keep  plowing  graves, 
And  keep  filling  them  with  braves ; 

While  their  ghosts 
Stand  in  faded  "blue  "  and  "gray," 
Marshaled  all  in  dumb  array — 

Silent  hosts. 

Put  a  fuse  into  some  crater ! 
Blow  mankind  to  its  Creator — 

Pell-mell  ! 

Blow  the  widow  and  the  weeper  I 
And  the  orphan  and  the  sleeper  I 
Blow  the  world  unto  its  keeper-— 

'Tis  a  shell  1 1 


Guns.  25 

What  is  all  this  fighting  for  ? 
Why  will  mankind  go  to  war, 

And  invent 

Engines  deadly,  more  and  most, 
Just  to  slaughter  greater  host  ? 

Sentiment ! 

Government !  1 

Watch  the  farmer  at  his  toil, 

Where  great  gun-wheels  plowed  the  soil ; 

Flowers  blooming ! 
'Tis  much  better  occupation 
'Tis  far  better  for  the  nation 

Than  guns  booming. 


The  Nation's  Dead. 


THE  NATION'S  DEAD. 

Delivered  at  Oakland,  California,  Memorial  Day,  1885. 

America's  sleeping 

In  the  arms  of  the  ocean  : 

Those  arms  so  long  and  bare, 

Beaching  out  every  where, 

Guarding  the  Nation  there 

Sleeping. 

Like  a  mother's  devotion 
These  arms  of  old  ocean 
Their  watch-guard  are  keeping; 
But  soon  there'll  be  weeping. 

Fond  mother  with  arms  so  strong, 
For  foes  been  looking  long, 
For  foes  been  looking  wrong. 
Looking  abroad  for  them — 
Thy  foe  's  within. 

Thy  foe  is  slavery, 
Gotten  of  knavery, 
'T  will  take  all  thy  bravery 
To  put  it  down. 


The  Nation's  Dead.  27 


List  to  the  dreadful  din, 
Hoarse  cannon  thundering ; 
Learn  that  thy  foe  's  within, 
Stand  not  there  wondering. 

A  new  flag  is  flying, 
The  old  flag  is  lying 
Trailed  in  the  dust, 
While  brave  men  are  dying, 
Who  had  it  in  trust. 

Hark  to  the  thundering  gun, 
Eight  here  in  'sixty-one 
At  Sumpter's  wall. 
Still  it  keeps  rumbling, 
While  Sumpter  keeps  tumbling 
'Tis  a  battle,  that's  all. 

Quick !  to  thy  nation  haste  ! 
There  's  now  no  time  to  waste  ! 
Call  out  thy  sons ! 

Already  they're  arming, 
They  're  leaving  their  farming 
And  taking  their  guns; 
Fathers  and  cousins, 
Brothers  and  sons. 


28  The  Nation's  Dead. 

Look  at  the  host  of  them; 

Hear  the  proud  boast  of  them; 

Coming  from  most  of  them, 

Not  to  return 

Till  Kebellion  is  ended, 

The  Union  defended, 

The  North  and  South  Weeded, 

Then  to  return  1 

Infantry,  cavalry, 

Flying  artillery; 

Best  blood  of  chivalry; 

Drums  beating  reveille  I 

The  trumpet  is  sounding. 

The  hills  are  resounding, 

The  war-horse  is  bounding, 

Over  the  plain  I 

To  battle  they're  rushing, 

Their  pale  cheeks  are  flushing, 

Their  blood  'gins  to  burn, 

From  the  field  whence  they're  rushing 

Will  they  ever  return  ? 

Like  corn  from  the  crushing, 
All  broken  return — 
Heart's  blood  set  a-gushing 
Can  never  return. 


The  Nation's  Dead.  29 


But  that  is  no  matter  ; 

Their  sabers  still  clatter, 

As  onward  they  go. 

That  saber — what  matters  it,' 

Though  an  enemy  batters  it, 

Though  their  own  blood  spatters  it, 

Still  onward  they  go. 

The  nation's  applauding, 
The  women  all  lauding 
Their  valor,  tis  true — 
But  no  woman's  flattery 
E'er  took  a  battery, 
Give  valor  its  due ! 

They  return — but  how  few, 
Whilst  the  sod  and  the  dew 
Covers  the  dead — 
Covers  the  rest  of  them ; 
Covers  the  blest  of  them  ; 
Some  of  the  best  of  them — 
Hallowed  dead. 

They  send  back  no  token 
To  hearts  that  are  broken ; 
They  died,  and  unspoken, 
With  mutterings  broken, 
Their  good-bye  was  said. 


'SO  The  Nation's  Dead. 

Day  after  day,  for  them, 
Women  may  pray  for  them, 
Naught  they  can  say  for  them, 
Alters  their  doom. 

They  did  with  valor  vie, 
They  did  their  valor  try ; 
No  one  can  tell  us  why 
They  were  marked  out  to  die, 
Yet  under  cloud  and  sky, 
Under  the  sod  they  lie, 
Where  daisies  bloom. 

Women  may  \veep  for  them, 
Night  vigils  keep  for  them, 
They'll  come  no  more. 
In  earth's  bosom  deep  for  them 
There's  eternal  sleep  for  them, 
For  evermore! 

The  nation  but  yesterday,  met  to  debate 
With  bayonet  point  the  question  great: 

Eesolved :     The  black  man  no  longer  shall  be 
A  slave,  in  the  land  where  the  rest  are  free. 

The  debate  caused  the  nation  a  world  of  fears 
And  wives  and  mothers  an  ocean  of  tears. 


The  Nation's  Dead.  31 


But  the  stamp  of  the  war-horse  created  the  shock 
That  broke  the  shackles  and  shattered  the  lock. 

The  question  was  settled,  and  so  shall  remain, 
And  our  only  regret  is  the  loss  of  the  slain. 

The  guns  are  all  stacked  ;  the  sentry  sleeps, 
But  the  camp-fire  burns  which  glory  keeps, 

While  they're  waiting  the  roll-call  over  head, 
That  slumb'ring  army — the  nation's  dead. 


Oh,  what  a  fearful  storm  was  that, 
That  deadly  leaden  rain. 
O,  what  a  dreadful  sight  was  that, 
The  dying  and  the  slain. 

The  phantom  sexton  moved  about, 
Though  not  a  word  he  said, 
But  put  his  fatal  mark  upon 
The  dying  and  the  dead. 

Then  came  the  phantom  grave-men, 
With  lantern,  pick  and  spade  ; 
They  heard  the  sexton's  dumb  command 
And  silently  obeyed. 


32  The  Nation's  Dead. 


And  when  their  spectral  work  was  done 
And  crosses  planted  there, 
These  phantom  grave-men  filed  away 
And  vanished — anywhere. 

We  find  some  graves  with  name  and  date, 
While  others  seem  forgot, 
With  nothing  but  a  nameless  cross 
To  mark  the  hallowed  spot. 

Bed  war  did  never  shed  such  bloodg 
Nor  braver  men  inter ; 
While  valor  never  was  embalmed 
In  better  sepulcher. 

The  strife  is  ended,  and  a  score 
Of  years  have  passed  away ; 
The  nation's  covered  up  its  dead, 
Their  bodies  turned  to  clay. 

In  life  they  fought  with  bitterest  hate  I 
The  fiercest  foes  'tis  true ; 
Death  makes  them  friends — no  matter  now, 
Which  coat  was  "gray,"  which  "blue." 

They  fought  to  take  each  other's  life, 
There  was  no  other  way  ; 
While  now  there's  many  a  self  same  grave 
Holds  both  the  "blue"  and  "gray." 


The  Nation's  Dead.  33 

Both  coats  are  of  one  color  now  ; 
The  grave  brings  quick  decay  ; 
Each  coal  is  turned  to  ashes  now, 
Each  coat  is  colored  "gray." 

The  fresh  green  grass,  like  bayonet  blades, 
Guards  them  all  these  years, 
'Tis  always  wet  with  heaven's  dew, 
And  oft  with  women's  tears. 

And  when  we  measure  all  the  tears, 
And  count  the  lives  so  lost, 
We  wonder  if  the  black  man  knows 
Just  what  his  freedom  cost. 

The  negro — does  he  think,  alone. 
He  caused  this  war,  I  wonder? 
'Tw'as  not  the  slave,  but  slavery 
Near  cut  this  land  asunder. 

That  fact  alone  aroused  the  brave 
And  fired  each  patriot  heart, 
No  power  on  earth,  they  stoutly  swore, 
Shall  tear  that  flag  apart  1 

We  wonder,  when  we  count  the  cost, 
And  reckon  every  grave, 


34  The  Nation's  Demi. 


Why  nations  will  enrich  their  soil 
With  ashes  of  their  brave. 

No  wonder  that  we  love  that  flag  ! 
Remembering  what  we  paid — 
Xo  wonder  that  we  deck  the  graves 
That  stopped  the  slavery  trade. 

The  country  o'er,  they  lie  asleep, 

In  many  a  sacred  spot  ; 

While  our  fresh  flowers,  fresh  tears,  proclaim 

They'll  never  be  forgot. 

The  great  rebellion  sent  its  bier, 
With  friend,  with  kin  and  kith  ; 
War  sent  us  soldiers'  graves  out  here, 
Heaven,  flowers  to  deck  them  with, 

God  bless  the  sacrifice  they  made, 
They  died  for  Uncle  Sam  ; 
Their  names  we'll  keep  for  ever  more, 
Fresh  in  memoriam. 

There's  one  green  mantle  covers  both. 
They're  sleeping  there  like  brothers  ; 
They'll  sleep  there  till  the  judgment  day, 
Until  God  calls  both  "blue"  and  "  -ray," 
Because  they  died  for  others. 


O.  A.  K.  35 


G.  A.  E. 

at  20f/i  National  Encampment  of  O.  A.  It.,  at  San  Francisco,  1886. 


Our  God  shall  guard  the  land  we  love, 
Where  dwells  the  eagle  and  the  dove  ; 
Where  none  are  warriors  by  trade. 
"But  all  are  soldiers  ready  made. 

REFRAIN. 

All  hail  our  eagle  soaring  high, 
Trailing  our  banner  through  the  sky, 
Emblazoned  on  each  crimson  bar 
That  royal  title— G.  A.  E. 

This  nation  ever  shall  revere 

Its  valorous  Union  volunteer, 

Whose  flashing  steel  o'erwhelmed  the  foe 

That  sought  the  Union's  overthrow. 

lie  guards  his  flag  when  foes  assail, 
As  mountain  crag  defies  the  gale  ; 
When  he  gives  'way,  just  where  he  stood 
You'll  find  his  body  and  his  blood. 

Should  foreign  foe  sound  war's  alarms, 
A  myriad  freemen  rush  to  arms  ; 
No  power  defeats  the  man  of  toil, 
Who  fights  for  home  and  his  own  soil, 


Camp-fire, 


CAMP-FIEE. 

Sung  at  ZQth  National  Encampment  of  G.  A.  E.t  at  San  Francisco,  1886. 

Potomac's  great  army  is  gathering  once  more 
"  Ohio  "  and  famed  "  Tennessee" 
The  "  Cumberland"  ; — all  from  the  sea  or  the  shore, 
To  join  in  our  grand  jubilee. 
REFRAIN. 

Come,  rally  'round  the  Camp-fire,  boys, 

Just  as  you  did  in  "  Sixty-one  "  ; 

To  swell  our  happy  throng, 

Bring  all  the  boys  along, 

But  leave  at  home  the  sabre  and  the  gun. 

See  yon  mighty  host !     Sherman  rides  in  the  van, 
From  "  Georgia  "  they're  tramping  along  ; 
Fast  marching  this  way  with  the  great  Iron-man, 
All  singing  our  Camp-fire  song. 

From  that  famous  ride  into  Winchester  town, 
To  where  he  made  Lee  stand  at  bay, 
Whenever  Phil  Sheridan's  horsemen  came  down 
The  "  jRe&s."  had  to  scamper  away. 

And  here's  to  brave  comrades,  remembered  with  love, 
Who  hold  their  re-union  on  high 

With  Grant  and  the  rest,  'round  the  Camp-fires  aborS— 
Those  beautiful  stars  in  the  sky. 


Blossoms  for  the  Brave,  37 


BLOSSOMS  FOE  THE  BRAVE 

Delivered  at  San  Francisco,  at  the  Memorial  Day  Ceremony, 
May  30, 1886. 

We  think  of  you  as  brave  and  true 

Grand  army  of  the  dead  ; 
You  are  asleep  'neath  sod  and  dew, 

Grand  army  of  the  dead ; 
Thou  who  did'st  the  nation  save, 
Here  we  come  to  deck  thy  grave, 
Scattering  blossoms  on  the  brave, 

Grand  army  of  the  dead. 

No  more  ye  hear  the  cannon  boom, 

Grand  army  of  the  dead  ; 
Your  flag  is  floating  o'er  your  tomb, 

Grand  army  of  the  dead  ; 
Here  we  come  with  flowers  to-day, 
Here  our  orisons  we  say, 
Sleep  ye  there  till  judgment  day, 

Grand  army  of  the  dead. 

Your  bivouac  tent  is  grassy  knoll, 

Grand  army  of  the  dead  ; 
Eternal  rest  your  long  parole, 

Grand  army  of  the  dead. 


Blossoms  for  the  Brave. 


Death-white  lips,  the  blood-red  hue, 
Staining  every  blouse  of  blue, 
Show  the  nation's  debt  to  you, 
Grand  army  of  the  dead. 

Comrades,  uncover !     Make  salute  1 1 
Grand  army  of  the  dead. 

Sweet  messengers  these  flowers  mute, 
Grand  army  of  the  dead. 

Precious  blood  where  valor  dies ; 

Hallowed  spot  where  patriot  lies ; 

Gateway  up  to  paradise, 
)     Grand  army  of  the  dead. 


Open  the  Gate. 


OPEN  THE  GATE  I 

Delivered  at  the  Hancock  Memorial,  San  Francisco,  m.  28,  J8S6 

Hard  by  the  nation's  temple  of  Fame. 
Where  sleep  the  great,  in  deed  and  mmx-, 
Liberty  strides  with  solemn  tread. 
Eternal  guard  of  the  treasured  dead. 
Outside  on  tessellated  floor, 
Outside  the  walls  with  golden  door, 
Her  sentry  step  the  nation  hears, 
In  measured  beat  through  waiting  yei;rs  ; 
To  watch  the  gate,  her  constant  care, 
That  only  the  great  may  enter  there. 


From  Governor's  Island  cannons  boom, 
Thus  death  salutes  the  fallen  plume  ; 
The  fortress  flag  is  lowered  half, 
And  drooping,  clings  the  barren  staff; 
Sword,  glory  hilted,  laid  aside  ; 
The  silent  barge  floats  down  the  tide  ; 
Down  to  the  Nation's  temple  of  fame, 
The  speechless  helmsman  guides  the  prame, 


40  Open  the  Gate. 


The  barge  is  moored  at  Fame's  green  isle, 
The  catafalque  removed  the  while — 
Brave  soldiers,  craped,  with  arms  reverse, 
Upon  their  shoulders — human  hearse — 
With  muffled  drum  and  mournful  air, 
The  casket  of  their  chieftain  bear. 
Up  that  same  path  where  late  they  came, 
Up  to  the  Nation's  temple  of  fame. 


The  Goddess  Bees  the  solemn  train, 
And  o'er  the  mnsic's  sad  refrain 
Cries  to  the  mourning  leaders — Stay  I 
Set  down  the  corse  !  what  seek  ye,  pray  ? 
Do  ye  not  know,  who  bear  the  bier, 
None  but  the  great  may  enter  here  ? 
And  who  is  this  for  whom  ye  claim 
Eternal  rest  in  temple  of  fame? 


This  is  the  fame  our  hero  has : 

At  Churubusco,  Contreras, 

A  youthful  soldier  awed  the  foe, 

In  stubborn  war  with  Mexico ; 

At  San  Antonio  'twas  he 

Who  bore  the  palm  of  bravery. 

Then  open  the  gate  to  him  who  came 

Up,  step  by  step,  to  temple  of  fame ; 


Open  the  Gate.  41 


Our  Captain  heard,  in  sixty-one, 
War's  fierce  alarm  from  Sumpter's  gun ; 
At  Williamsburg,  the  soldiers  say, 
'Twas  his  fierce  charge  that  won  the  day. 
South  Mountain,  with  Antietam's  field, 
Proved  him  a  soldier  would  not  yield, 
Deeds  stalwart,  fitting  stalwart  frame, 
Earn  him  the  right  to  temple  of  fame. 


At  Golding's  Farm  and  Garnett's  Hill ; 
At  Fredericksburg  and  Chancellorsville ; 
At  Savage  Station,  Marye's  Height, 
We  found  him  in  the  hottest  fight. 
At  Spottsylvania,  Wilderness, 
Cold  Harbor,  Petersburg,  no  less : 
These  give  our  hero  lasting  name  1 
Then  open  the  gate  to  temple  of  fame. 


'Twas  he  held  Cemetery  Eidge, 

That  made  for  victory  a  bridge 

To  breast  rebellion's  rushing  tide. 

When  he  checked  Longstreet's  madd'ning  ride 

On  doubtful  field,  he  won  by  far 

The  grandest  victory  of  the  War, 

And  gave  to  Gettysburg  a  name 

That  wins  his  right  to  temple  of  fame. 


42  Open  the  Gate. 

The  casket  lies  uncovered  there  ; 
That  noble  face,  the  silvered  hair, 
Proclaim  to  all,  in  accents  mute, 
Great  virtue,  rarer  attribute 
Than  tales  of  valor  you  may  hear — 
Great,  Goddess,  bid  us  raise  the  bier, 
And  to  this  one  of  spotless  name 
Pray  ope  the  gate,  Warden  of  fame. 


This  door  is  only  for  the  great, 
Whose  deeds  we  would  perpetuate  ; 
Twice  has  it  opened  inthe  year — 
For  Grant's  and  for  Me  Clellan's  bier ; 
And  now  again,  the  Nation  saith : 
As  once  in  life,  so  e'en  in  death, 
'Tis  fit  that  he  should  follow  Grant, 
Like  a  true  soldier,  militant ; 
And  now  the  Goddess  speaks  once  more, 
As  slowly  swings  the  golden  door ; 
To  all  the  world  I  now  proclaim, 
Hancock  shall  hawe  eternal  fame. 


The  Colonel's  Little  Joe. 


THE  COLONEL'S  LITTLE  JOE. 

When  both  lines  lay 

Like  stags  at  bay, 
In  the  days  of  "  Sixty-one/' 

A  little  scamp 

Came  into  camp, 
And  asked  to  carry  a  gun  ! 

My  little  man, 

I  doubt  if  you  can 
Hold  up  a  gun  so  large  ! 

You'd  die  of  fright, 

Before  the  fight, 
Or  ere  we  came  to  charge  ! 

With  face  so  grave 

He  said  :  "  I'm  brave ! 
And  couldn't  I  beat  the  drum  ? 

For  I've  no  pa  ! 

And  I've  no  ma  ! 
Or  else  I  wouldn't  have  come!  " 


44  The  Colonel's  Little  Joe. 

'Tis  a  risk  you  take — 

But  a  "  marker  "  you'd  make, 

To  straighten  the  columns  by  I 
You'd  have  to  stand, 
Small  flag  in  hand, 

My  lad,  where  the  bullets  fly  I 

"  My  name  is  Joe  1 

I'd  have  you  know 
I've  got  a  coat  of  blue ! 

But  what  if  I  got 

An  extra  shot 
The  Eebs.  had  aimed  at  you?" 

'Twould  be  a  shame  ! 

I'd  feel  to  blame, 
If  you  should  die  for  me ! 

So  bright  a  lad, 

With  lot  so  sad, 
A  better  fate  should  see ! 

'Tis  strange,  indeed, 
That  I  should  heed 

Your  tale — and  hear  it  through ! 
And  stranger  still, 
My  heart  should  fill 

With  such  a  love  for  you  ! 


The  Colonel's  Little  Joe.  45 

^  • 

But  in  your  face 
A  look  I  trace — 
So  like  my  angel  boy ! 

Who  died  one  day 
In  early  May, 
'Way  back  in  Illinois, 

I  have  a  wife, 

Dear  as  my  life ; 
And  when  the  war  is  done, 

You  shall  fall  heir 

To  that  vacant  chair, 
And  be  to  us  a  son  I 

"  I  have  not  heard 

A  pleasant  word, 
Save  yours,  for  many  a  day ! " 

Joe  ceased  to  speak  ! 

But  down  his  cheek 
Ran  words  he  could  not  say. 

Then  in  the  tent 

The  Colonel  bent, 
And  kissed  the  golden  hair ! 

His  epaulette 
'  With  tears  grew  wet — 
That  Joe  was  dropping  there. 


46  The  Colonel's  Little  Joe. 


What  soldiers  prize 

ihey  idolize, 
As  every  one  may  know  ! 

And  little  blame 

That  soon  they  came 
To  worship  Colonel's  Joe. 

Joe  loved  to  ride 
By  the  Colonel's  side, 

And  hear  the  soldiers  laugh  ! 
He'd  look  austere, 
When  they  would  cheer 

The  Colonel  and  his  staff  ! 

No  one  can  know 

How  little  Joe 
Crept  in  the  Colonel's  heart; 

Together  thrown — 

Down  there  alone — 
From  other  loves  apart ! 

In  pleasant  spot, 

The  soldier's  lot 
Is  one  without  a  care  ; 

But  what  a  change, 

When,  at  short  range — 
Death  flanks  him  eve?  \  v.-h<>re  ; ! 


The  Colonel's  Little  Joe.  47 


"When  that  brigade, 
By  fierce  charge,  made 

Each  field  a  slaughter  pen  ! 
Joe  was  the  first 
To  quench  the  thirst, 

And  succor  wounded  men. 

In  rain  of  hell, 

Which  often  fell 
From  those  war-clouds  of  woe, 

'Twas  strange  that  not 

A  single  shot 
Struck  Colonel  or  his  Joe  ! 

There's  much  to  abhor 

In  open  war ! 
But  in  the  "  Sharpshooter's"  ; 

That  cowardly  blow 

From  a  secret  foe — 
There  lies  a  Nation's  shame ! 

True  hunters  blush 

To  hide  in  brush. 
And  shoot  the  couching  stag ! 

But  hidden  aim 

At  human  game 
Disgraces  any  flay  !  ! 


48  The  Colonel's  Little  Joe. 


The  tent  was  laid 

Beneath  the  shade 
Of  spreading  hemlock  tree ; 

Where  the  Colonel  sat, 

For  a  little  chat 
With  Joe,  upon  his  knee  I 

When  a  rifle  shot 

From  yonder  spot — 
Where  lurked  a  hidden  foe — 

On  death  intent. 

For-  the  Colonel  meant, 
Stopped  short  in  the  breast  of  Joe  1 

The  Colonel— dumb— 

With  grief  o'ercome, 
Spoke  not  in  his  despair  ! 

But  little  Joe 

Said  :  "  I  will  go, 
And  wait  for  you,  up  there!" 

"  Weep  not!  "he  said; 

"  But  when  I'm  dead— 
And  sleep  as  soldiers  do — 

Tell  her  I  got 

That  extra  shot 
The  "  Kebs"  had  aimed  at  you  !  " 


The  ColoneTs  Little  Joe,  49 

Bearing  that  smile, 

That  stays  a  while, 
When  soul  and  body  part ; 

With  drooping  head, 

Poor  Joe  lay,  dead, 
Upon  the  Colonel's  heart. 

They  made  a  grave 

For  the  little  brave, 
Where  angels  hov'ring  low, 

Stepped  from  the  cloud, 

On  "  Lookout,"  proud, 
And  took  up  Little  Joe  ! 


50  Blind  Joe. 


BLIND  JOE. 


Joe  Parsons  was  brave,  but  somewhat  gruff ; 
A  noted  wag  and  rather  tough  ! 
'Twas  on  Antietam's  field  he  lay, 
With  both  his  eyes  clean  shot  away. 

"  I'm  in  a  fix,"  he  said,  "  and  fear 
My  eyes  have  gone  and  left  ine  here  ! 
I  have  no  eyes  to  close  in  sleep, 
And  for  their  loss  no  eyes  to  weep ! 

I'd  walk  about,  but  do  not  know, 
AVithout  my  sight,  which  way  to  go 
Among  the  dead,  unless  I'm  shown  !  " 
At  length  he  hears  a  soldier  groan. 

"  Hello  thar,  stranger !     How  de  do  ! 
I'm  a  '  Yank  ' !     Pray,  who  are  yon  ? 
Wai,  I'm  a  'Reb,'  and  wear  the  gray  ! 
And  both  my  legs  are  shot  away  ! 


Blind  Joe.  51 


Old  Butternut,  come  here  to  me ! 

For  I  am  blind  and  cannot  see ! 

How  like  derned  fools  you  Yankees  talk ! 

I've  lost  my  legs !     How  can  I  walk  ? 

All  right,  old  pal,  just  hold  your  own, 
And  guide  me  by  that  dismal  groan 
Till  I  can  grope  my  way  to  you, 
Then  we'll  resolve  what's  best  to-  do. 

'Tis  legs  you  need  and  eyes  I  lack ! 
So  I'll  just  tote  you  on  my  back  ! 
If  you  can  somehow  sit  astride, 
I'll  be  the  beast  and  let  you  ride ; 

But  drive  me  gently  with  a  chirrup, 
For  you've  no  feet  and  I've  no  stirrup ; 
And  bear  in  mind,  you  must  not  fool 
E'en  with  a  blind,  old,  army  mule. 

But  understand,  '  Old  Porcupine,' 
You  guide  me  to  the  '  Union '  line." 
The  "  Eeb."  assents,  with  blandishment, 
But  guides  him  to  Confederate  tent, 

"  What  have  we  here,  a  Yankee  spy  ?  " 
The  Colonel  asks,     "  Then  let  him  die  !  " 
But  nothing  daunted,  out  speaks  Joe : 
"  The  blind  man  knows  not  friend  from  foe  ! 


52  Blind.  Joe. 


My  presence  here  no  pardon  begs ; 
He  is  the  spy,  I'm  but  the  legs  ! 
To  speak  a  little  plainer,  '  boss,' 
He  is  the  man  1     I'm  but  the  hoss, 

Or  beast,  perhaps,  of  lower  class  ; 
In  playing  horse  I've  proved  an  ass  / 
An  error,  Colonel,  of  the  mind, 
Which  pray  excuse,  since  I  am  blind ; 
I  chose  the  Devil  for  my  pal, 
Who  proves  a  Rebel  General  I 


Lee  at  Appomattox. 


LEE  AT  APPOMATTOX. 

Delivered  at  Anniversary  of  Appomattox  Post,  G.  A.  £., 
Oakland,  Cal.,  1886. 


At  Appomattox,  when  the  war  was  done, 
Each  soldier  leaning  on  his  silent  gun, 

Stood  Eobert  Lee,  upon  that  famous  knoll, 
And  bade  his  army  sign  the  long  parole. 

Thus  victory  clasped  hands  with  sore  defeat, 
And  made  secession  henceforth  obsolete  ! 

The  white-haired  chieftain  keenly  felt  the  stroke, 
And  to  his  yielding  army  thus  he  spoke : 

"  Brave  comrades,  mine,  of  many  a  well-fought  field, 
Scarred  veterans,  the  time  has  come  to  yield  ! 

The  fates  declare  our  bleeding  cause  is  lost, 
And  prove  rebellion  dear  at  any  cost  I 

Ked  war  has  rolled  its  devastating  flood, 
fluid  left  a  Nation  floundering  in  its  blood  I " 


54  Lee  to  the  Confederate  Flag. 


LEE  TO  THE  CONFEDEEATE  FLAG. 

(Head  as  part  of  previous  poem.) 

Pull  down  Eebellion's  flag ! 
Once  proudly  waved  from  battlement  and  fort, 
While  millions  cheered  and  thousands  gave  support, 

'Tis  now  a  useless  rag, 
And  droops  in  token  of  its  own  defeat, 
And  humbly  doth  its  honored  victor  meet. 

The  edict  has  been  said : 
This  country  brooks  no  standard  but  its  own ! 
Let  this  one  live  in  memory  alone  I 

Like  its  defenders  dead 
It  must  lie  buried  in  the  nation's  dust ! 
'Tis  never  what  we  would  but  what  we  must ! 

Emblem  of  mortal  strife — 
Its  stripes  were  cut  out  by  the  saber  blade ; 
In  human  blood  'twas  dyed,  in  discord  made  ; 

And  borne  where  war  was  rife 
In  constant  battle  smoke  without  surcease  ; 
It  never  knew  the  gentle  breath  of  peace ! 


Lee  to  ike  Confederate  Flag.  55 


Flag  of  the  bleeding  South- 
How  many  noble  souls  have  rushed  to  death,  • 
Ami  said  their  final  prayer  in  gasping  breath, 

With  dry  and  parched  mouth, 

Through  their  vain  faith  in  thee  I     What  thy  return  ? 
Defeat!     Most  bitter  dregs  in  broken  urn. 

Brave  men,  with  coats  of  blue — 
Behold  these  gray  battalions  battle-worn  ! 
Behold  their  flag  in  smoke  of  battle  torn  ! 

This  work  was  done  by  you ! 
Go,  count  the  slain  !     On  every  field  they  lie ! 
Opinions  live,  while  their  defenders  die  I 

I've  heard  an  army  cheer 
That  flag,  and  shout  above  the  cannon's  roar, 
And  rushing,  pile  their  dead  up  by  the  score 

Like  grain  sheaves,  tier  on  tier  ; 
And  make  in  one  short  hour  a  world  of  woe, 
To  wrest  a  worthless  standard  from  the  foe  ! 

Let  no  more  blood  be  shed  ! 
Pull  down  that  flag !    'Tis  no  disgrace  to  yield— 
Our  father's  flag  is  master  of  the  field  I 

Go,  spread  it  o'er  the  dead, 
And  know :  He  justly  feels  th'avenging  rod 
Who  fights  against  his  country  and  his  God  ! 


56  Lee  to  the  Confederate  Flag. 


"Tis  painful  to  return 

To  ruined  homes,  where  sit  fond  mothers,  -wives, 
In  useless  tears,  bewailing  wasted  lives ; 

And  meekly  bid  them  learn 
That  nevermore  on  high  with  martial  strain 
Shall  slavery's  flag  cut  freedom's  breeze  in  twain. 

A  generous  victor  saith  : 

Lay  down  your  guns — no  more  shout  war's  alarm; 
Let  each  man  keep  his  horse  to  till  his  farm 

And  plow  the  field  of  death  ! 
Down  in  the  dust  let  treason's  banner  drag, 
And  homeward  proudly  bear  your  country's  flag. 

The  three-barred  flag  came  down — 
Presumptuous  cause  of  fratricidal  war — 
The  stars  and  stripes  they  raised,  then  shouted  for ; 

Then  back  through  field  and  town, 
As  proudly  as  the  victors,  bore  it  thence, 
To  be  the  first  to  die  in  its  defence. 


Sherman  at  Shiloh.  57 


SHEEMAN  AT  SHILOK 


The  Shiloh  church  was  closed  that  Sabbath  morn  : 
Like  dove  of  peace  with  folded  wing,  forlorn- 
Hoarse  war  profane  had  hushed  its  sacred  song : 
The  congregation  many  thousand  strong, 

Their  dusky  forms  outside  in  morn's  dull  light, 
Plad  come  there,  not  to  worship,  but  to  fight. 

Hard  by  the  church,  fit  metal  for  the  van, 
Kenowned  Tecumseh  stands :  the  Iron  man  I 

The  river,  with  its  branches,  guards  three  sides, 
While  down  the  fourth  the  Rebel  army  strides, 

As  springs  the  furious  lion  from  his  lair : — 

To  stop  the  onslaught  fierce,  was  Sherman  there, 

As  some  great  bluffs  are  set  by  God's  decree, 
To  stop  the  useless  fury  of  the  sea. — 

As  lesser  rocks  are  by  the  tide  o'erwhelmed, 
Sinks  Prentiss  down— and  like  a  ship  unhelmed, 


58  Sherman  at  Shiloh. 

Yonder  brave  Stuart  flounders  in  the  flood ; 
While  back,  McClernand  wades  a  tide  of  blood. 

With  force  divided,  Grant  must  wait  for  Buell : 
Grant  knew  there  was  no  heat  in  scattered  fuel ; 

But  must  obey  great  Halleck's  strange  commands. 
As  one  who  fights  with  shackles  on  his  hands. 

No  error  may  be  scored  against  that  man 
Who  fights  a  battle  on  another's  plan. 

At  early  morn  Grant  hears  the  battle's  roar, 
So  fiercely  Johnson  batters  at  his  door. 

"  To  horse  ! "  he  cries — Savannah,  miles  away 
To  South  he  leaves,  swift  riding  to  the  fray. 

As  rising  tide  o'erwhelms  the  swaying  reeds, 
O'erborne,  the  wavering  army  slow  recedes ; 

They  catch  the  glint  of  yonder  shoulder-star 
'Our  Chieftain  comes !     The  man  with  a  ciqur  ! ! ' 

The  words  pass  on,  fast  swelling  into  cheers  ! 
Sad  requiem  in  fallen  Johnson's  ears.   » 


Sherman  at  Shiloh.  59 


Grant's  orders  fly  1    Along  the  front  he  flies  ! 
Grant  smokes !— the  battle  smokes,  e'en  to  the-skies. 

Now  Beauregard  in  frenzy  flies  the  field  ! 
But  for  the  Iron  man  who  will  not  yield 

He'd  drive  those  Yanks  into  the  Tennessee  ; 
But  old  Tecumseh  says :  '  It  shall  not  be.' 

As  some  great  hulk  the  waves  have  driven  ashore, 
Stops  where  their  combined  fury  drives  no  more  : 

Or  wounded  boar,  by  dogs  o'ermatched,  at  bay — 
Eecedes,  but  still  is  master  of  the  day. 

Another  stand  he  makes  when  one  is  lost, 
By  Kebels  purchased  at  too  great  a  cost. 

All  heedless  rides  he  through  that  musket  hail, 
As  one  who  wears  a  coat  of  charmed  mail. 

Horse  after  horse  beneath  this  rider  falls, 
Great  marvel  hungry  death  no  closer  calls. 

Oft,  courting  danger  as  a  welcome  guest, 
This  Sabbath  day  is  not  his  day  of  rest. 


60  Sherman  at  Shiloh. 

The  Eebels  mass  to  catch  him  on  the  flank : 
A  well-placed  batt'ry  lays  the  solid  rank 

. 

As  on  wet  fields  you've  seen  the  storn>lodged  grain : 
To  silence  it  charge  cavalry  in  vain, 

For  veteran  musketry  stand  in  their  track, 
And  make  those  horses  riderless  turn  back ! 

The  battle  theirs,  by  carrying  that  ravine ! 

But  this  great  movement  Grant  has  long  foreseen ; 

His  sleeping  monsters  on  the  river  there 
Thunder  their  tumult  on  the  Sabbath  air ; 

Up  that  ravine  those  gunboats  bowl  the  shell : — 

"  Ketreat !  'Tis  Grant's  command !  Make  room  J ! "  they  yell 

And  those  who  dare  this  edict  disobey 

Go  down  like  human  tenpins,  bowled  away. 

The  lingering  Nelson,  Grant  draws  up  in  form ; 
Then  issues  forth  that  cold  "  Galena  "  storm. 

'Tis  not  in  human  power  to  stand  such  fire ; 
The  bugle  sounds,  they  sullenly  jetire. 


SJicrman  at  Shiloh.  61 


And  as  those  shattered  ranks  move  out  of  sight 
Bed  battle  slinks  away  into  the  night ; 

Grim  darkness  draws  her  mantle  overhead, 
And  covers  up  the  living  and  the  dead. 

The  river  gunboats,  still  maintaining  fight, 
With  arching  shell  light  up  the  dome  of  night ; 

Great  screaming  meteors  hurled  through  black  space, 
Or  comets  fleet,  engaged  in  midnight  race. 

There  float  black  gunboats  in  the  clouds  as  well, 
That  answer  back  with  just  as  deadly  shell ; 

God's  lightning  comes  down  zigzag  to  the  floor  ; 
Man's  fatal  lightning  whizzes,  circling  o'er : 

Both  thunderbolts  have  set  the  woods  on  fire; 
A  bivouac  light  at  once,  and  funeral  pyre : 

Man's  mimic  thunder  vies  with  God's  o'erhead, 
In  that  great  midnight  battle  o'er  the  dead. 

The  crystal  bullets  fall— the  dead  are  drenched  ; 
Great  mercy  'tis,  for  wounded  thirst  is  quenched. 


62  Sherman  at  Shiloh. 

One  shudders  at  a  dead  man  in  the  way ; 

But  here  are  thousands  dead,  in  blue  and  gray. 

The  living  sleep  beside  them  in  the  rain  : 
God's  tears  co-mingle  with  the  crimson  stain. 

Far  back  are  living,  wounded,  dead  and  all ; 
Black  darkness  serves  for  blanket  and  for  pall. 

With  Buell's  reinforcements  well  in  hand ; 
Through  darkness  ridefi  the  chief  to  each  command 

AVith  special  orders:  "At  to-morrow's  light 
Let  all  advance  in  one  o'erwhelming  light." 

Then  lies  he  down,  like  others,  in  the  storm, 
On  the  wet  earth — a  blanket  wraps  his  form : 

He  dreams  of  retribution  in  the  morn ! 

He  hears  retreat  sound  from  their  bugle  horn  I 

He  sees  his  brave  battalions  beat  them  down, 
While  Buell  sweeps  them  back  to  Corinth  town. 

With  right  and  might  was  victory  supreme  ! 
There  sometimes  is  a  truth  wrapped  in  a  dream. 


Halleck's  Dry  Battle  at  Corinth.  63 


HALLECK'S  DEY  BATTLE  AT  COBIOTH. 

Halleck  put  GEANT  in  disgrace  : 
Halleck  put  Smith  in  his  place  ; 
His  wound  was  the  sting  of  an  adder  * 
Halleck  drops  down  to  obscurity ; 
Halleck's  name  goes  to  futurity 

As  that  of  a  man  of  cant, 

Who  labored  to  ruin  Grant : 
He  stood  at  the  top  of  the  ladder, 

Unworthy  of  mentton, 

His  constant  attention — 
Instead  of  putting  down  slavery — 

Was  the  man  who  clung 

To  a  lower  rung : 
That  compound  of  genius  and  bxavery. 

Halleck,  the  great  martinet, 
Halleck,  fame's  blank  silhouette, 
Could  not  shake  this  Grant  from  the  ladder : 
Donaldson,  Shiloh,  luka, 
Corinth,  Vicksburg,  Chatanooya; 
Such  strides  the  great  hero  took, 
No  wonder  fame's  stepladder  shook  ! 


04  HaUecVa  Dry  Battle  at  Corinth. 

Then  Halleck  grew  wiser  and  sadder ; 
So  great  was  the  shaking 
He  fell,  quickly  breaking 

That  bubble  :  his  great  reputation  j 
While  up  went  the  banner 
Along  with  the  "  Tanner," 

A  fortunate  change  for  the  nation. 

After  the  battle  of  Shiloh, 
Halleck  came  down  for  a  while-O, 
This  pompous  commander-in-chief : 
Halleck,  with  tactics  so  wonderful 
Halleck,  with  strategy  blunderful ; 
His  advance  was  a  slow  retard 
When  following  Beauregard  i 
In  six  weeks — 'tis  past  all  belief — 
He  marched  fifteen  miles — 
All  history  smiles — 
His  marching  was  unprecedented ; 
Then  sat  himself  down 
Before  "  Corinth  "  town 
With  seventy  thousand — contented. 

There  he  sat,  sucking  his  thumb, 
Fearing  the  Rebels  might  come : 
Those  Eebels  were  marching  away ; 
Humor  like  this  was  outrageous  : 
Halleck  at  length  grew  courageous; 


BaBeeVa  Dry  BaMe  at  Corinth.  65 

Assuming  a  terrible  frown, 

He  marched  on  that  vacated  town- 
He  marched  in  fierce  battle  array  I 

Bravely  withstood  the  sun  1 

Captured  each  "  wooden  gun  "  / 
The  chickens— some  stray,  starving  cattle— 

The  mice  and  the  spiders — 

Those  Eebel  abiders 
At  Corinth !— Great  Halleck's  dry-battle/ 

Halleck,  recalled  in  disgrace, 
Tendered  "  quartermaster"  his  place : 
He  wanted  it  filled  with  renown- 
Deeming  his  late  army-butler 
A  soldier  much  fitter  and  "  subtler." 

Fame  sets  Halleck  alone 

Squat  on  a  pedestal  stone : 
The  soldier  who  captured  a  town, 

With  a  smatt'ring  of  mud, 

But  no  spatt'ring  of  blood  : 
A  world-renowned  wooden-gun  victory; 

While  gossips  still  tattle 

Of  Halleck's  dry-battle 
At  Corinth :  His  great  valedictory. 


By  Camp-fire  and  Fireside 


BY  CAMP-FIEE  AND  FIKESIDE. 

That  night  by  the  camp-fire  soldiers  slept ; 

Some  dreamed  of  home, — some  prayed  1 
Now  for  themselves,  and  now  for  the  nation : 

They  knew  the  battle  was  laid 
And  blood  must  be  poured  to  make  libation, 

And  soldier's  honor  be  kept. 

That  night  by  the  fireside  mothers  wept 
For  loved  ones  gone :  All  prayed — 

Now  for  their  boys,  and  now  for  the  nation ; 
While  hope  and  fear  they  weighed^ — 

And  life  and  death  in  the  calculation 
With  equal  chances  crept. 

The  Camp-fire  is  out  and  honor  kept ; 

God  spared  not  all  who  prayed j 
For  some  must  die  to  save  the  nation, 

If  saved  by  the  saber  blade ! 
And  muscles  quiver  their  little  duration, 

And  bleed  till  the  soul  has  slept. 

The  fireside  is  bright,  and  some  have  crept 

Into  those  arms  that  prayed  ; 
While  some  sleep  'neath  the  grass  of  the  nation 

In  death's  long  ambuscade ; 
And  he  whose  blood  came  in  perspiration 

This  lesser  sacrifice  kept. 


Surgeon  Puff  I  57 


SURGEON  PUFF! 

They  called  him  Doc.  Bravado  ! 

He  hailed  from  Colorado  ; 
As  fine  a  looking  surgeon  as  could  be  ; 

He  wore  his  hair  like  Ouster, 

But  was  so  full  of  bluster 
They  christened  him  "  The  brag,"  and  used  a 

While  'round  the  camp-fire  toasting 
His  shins,  and  proudly  boasting, 

This  crowing  gascon  seemed  a  braggart  arch  ; 
Well  pufied  up  with  pretensions, 
Would  strut  in  grand  dimensions, 

And  ride  up  in  the  van  when  on  the  march. 


His  skill  no  soldier  doubted — 

But  all  his  valor  flouted, 
Believing  him  so  cowardly  at  heart, 

The  smoke  of  the  first  battle, 

And  noise  of  musket  rattle 
Would  make  him  shake  with  fear  and  fall  apart. 


«8  Surgeon  Puff! 


T*hey  all  were  heard  remarking : 

"  A  dog  so  fond  of  barking 
Would  never  close  his  mouth  to  take  a  bite  " ; 

And  so  they  planned  to  scare  him, 

In  ambush  to  ensnare  him, 
And  playing  Kebels,  frighten  him  that  night* 

And  so  they  lay  in  waiting — 

This  Surgeon  Puff  berating ; 
And  over  his  chagrin  had  many  a  laugh  I 

And  while  in  this  sequester 

The  regimental  jester 
Bead  them  an  ante-mortem  epitaph  1 

"  Here  lies  Surgeon  Bravado, 
Who  hailed  from  Colorado  I 

He  would  have  whipped  the  Kebels  all  alone, 
But  that  he  died  of  fear- 
So,  Kebels  come  not  near  1 

There's  danger  even  in  each  rattling  bone," 

And  when  they  heard  him  nearing 
They  yelled  to  split  his  hearing ! 

Instead  of  running,  he  began  to  shout : 

"Here  are  the  Kebels,  d n  'em  I" 

Then  he  began  to  lamm  'em — 

And  wounding  three,  put  all  the  rest  to  rout  1 


The  Battle  March. 


THE  BATTLE  MAKCH: 

OB,  THE  GREEN  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 

They  had  not  seen  her  for  years, 
That  rich  but  green,  country  cousin ; 
And  hence  their  numerous  fears 
Increased  like  a  baker's  dozen  ; 
Because  she  wrote  she'd  be  down 
Just  after  her  graduation  ; 
Which  filled  these  cousins  in  town 
With  fear  and  great  purturbation. 

"  She's  awkward  as  any  old  crow  ; 

Will  dress  in  such  country  fashion, 

And  drawl  through  her  nose,  I  know, 

To  set  a  saint  in  a  passion." 

"  Your  uncle  is  rich,"  answered  aunt, 

And  'twill  not  do  to  refuse  her, 

For  ask  a  delay — we  can't  I 

We'll  trust  each  guest  will  excuse  her  I 

Just  think  of  our  great  musicale, 
With  each  bidden  guest  distinguished, 
Disgraced  by  a  green,  country  '  gal,' 
Who  can't  be  put  down  nor  extinguished, 


70  The  Battle  March. 


That  new  piece  of  music  by  Balse, 
In  manuscript  of  composer,  - 
She'll  match  with  old-fashioned  waltz, 
If  some  one  chance  to  propose  her." 

The  cousin  arriving — came  down 
When  all  the  guests  had  assembled  ; 
While  aunt's  long  face  wore  a  frown, 
Not  knowing  the  girl  had  dissembled. 
Chagrin  was  so  plainly  seen, 
While  emphasis  helped  construction ; 
"  A  country  cousin — Miss  Green  ! " 
Completed  her  introduction. 

A  smile  crept  o'ei  that  sweet  face 
At  sight  of  those  simpers  and  gushes ; 
A  fresh  rose  nodded  with  grace 
Amidst  artificial  blushes ; 
She  caught  the  composer's  keen  eye, 
And  bright  grew  their  conversation ; 
While  talent  and  beauty  ran  high, 
And  Cupid  found  new  occupation. 

'Twas  time  for  the  new  march,  grand ; 
The  author  begged  leave  to  delay  it — 
Pretending  a  very  weak  hand — 
"  Unless  some  kind  guest  would  play  it." 


The  Battle  March.  71 


While  most  were  ambitious  to  try 
This  difficult  piece,  in  construction, 
Each  one  resigned,  with  a  sigh, 
Before  she  was  through  th'introduction. 

Our  friend  glanced  over  the  piece, 
Then  played  with  artistic  precision  ; 
And  mockery  found  its  surcease, 
While  melody  hushed  their  derision : 
They  heard  the  roll  of  the  drum  ! 
Great  volleys  of  musketry  rattle  1 
The  galloping  cavalry  come  I 
Then  felt  the  shock  of  the  battle  ! 

The  waver,  the  rout,  the  retreat  I 
Great  captains  grasping  at  glory  ! 
With  victory  chasing  defeat 
Hard  over  the  battle  field  gory ! 
They  heard  the  boom  of  the  gun  I 
And  almost  saw  the  hot  flashes  1 
And  when  the  battle  was  done     • 
Heard  Slavery  groan  in  the  ashes! 

And  then  they  came  back  again  I 
Back  through  the  dead  and  the  dying  1 
That  tramp  of  victorious  men  ! 
With  banner  of  freedom  still  flying ! 


The  Battle  March. 


Then  tramp,  tramp,  tramp  in  the  street ! 
That  home-coming,  scarred  and  broken  I 
Embraces  and  cheers  to  greet, 
And  tears  where  naught  came  but  a 

They  all  applauded  with  zest ; 
Amazed  at  her  wonderful  playing  I 
Since  genius  had  gone  through  the  test 
Triumphant,  she  could  not  help  saying  J 
"  Until  one's  worth  may  be  seen 
Be  more  discreet  in  your  greeting  1 
Some  apples  are  ripe  while  green, 
And  some,  though  ripe,  not  worth  eating!  " 


Song  of  the  Ensign.  73 


SONG  OF  THE  ENSIGN. 

Here  on  the  brink  of  battle 
I  fondly  kiss  each  fold ; 
For  yonder  musket  rattle 
My  destiny  may  hold ! 
Dear  Flag  I 

Thou  ever  precious  banner, 
Beloved  of  all  the  free  ; 
The  soldie/ in  this  manner 
Shows  love— he  dies  for  theel 
Dear  Flag  I 

What  citizen-devotion 
Can  ever  equal  be 
To  that  great  soldier-notion— 
Idolatry  of  thee ! 

Dear  Flag  I 

Thou'rt  not  unlike  the  others, 
But  only  better  made  ; 
For  sweethearts,  sisters,  mothers 
Stitched  in  each  silken  shade  1 
Dear  Flag! 


74  Song  of  the  Ensign. 

In  prayer  they  clasp  those  fingers ; 
In  prayer  they  bend  the  knee  ; 
Their  blessing  'round  thee  lingers; 
I  kiss  them,  kissing  thee  ! 
Dear  Flag  I 

I  kiss  them  for  my  fellows, 
So  soon  to  cast  the  lot ! 
For  Fate  works  at  the  bellows ! 
The  forge  will  soon  be  hot  I 
Dear  Flag ! 

And  Freedom's  breeze  is  kissing, 
Upon  thy  silken  scroll, 
Those  names  to  be  marked  missing, 
When  next  they  call  the  roll ! 
Dear  Flag ! 

'Tis  well  we  can  not  read  them : — 
Enough  to  say  adieu 
Whenever  death  shall  need  them  :- 
Perhaps  my  name's  there,  too  ! 
Dear  Flag  1 

Our  regiment  is  standing 
In  battle's  dumb  array — 
And  waits  but  the  commanding, 
To  dash  into  the  fray ! — 
Dear  Flag! 


Song  of  the  Ensign.  75 


Like  tierce  stampede  of  cattle, 
We'll  rush  where  foe  besets  ! 
Eight  in  the  teeth  of  battle  : 
Those  glistening  bayonets  I 
Dear  Flag  1 

And  I'm  the  one  to  bear  thee ! 
The  one  to  lead  the  way ! 
The  God  of  battles  spare  me, 
To  bring  thee  back  to-day ! 
Dear  Flag ! 

If  I  shall  fall  in  battle, 
Why,  thou  wilt  be  my  shroud, 
When  muffled  drum  shall  rattle 
Its  anthem  to  the  cloud  I 
Dear  Flag ! 

Then,  by  the  clod  and  clover  1 
Shut  out  from  blue  on  high  ! 
Thy  blue  sky  shall  be  over ! 
Thy  bright  stars  ever  nigh  I 
Dear  Flag  1 


76  The  Little  "  Confederate." 


THE  LITTLE  "  CONFEDEKATE." 

When  Grant  had  Vicksburg  besieged  with  dread, 

And  the  two  great  armies  frowned, 

Keen  sentries  paced  in  their  measured  tread, 

With  step  undaunted, 

Where  both  flags  flaunted 
On  hills  with  batteries  crowned. 

The  sentry  walked  on  his  silent  beat ; 
"  Halt !  Halt !  and  who  goes  there  ?  " 
A  little  girl  paused,  nor  made  retreat. 

But  raised  her  hand 

As  this  command 
Hang  out  on  the  clear,  night  air. 

"  Don't  speak  so  loud  !  you  man  with,  a  guflj*"*' 
You  certainly  can  not  fear 
A  little  girl,  such  a  tiny  one, 

That's  just  come  through 

To  see  if  you 
Had  some  cofiee  over  here." 


The  Little  "Confederate" 


"And  where  are  you  from,  my  little  girl?" 
"  Yonder  fort  with  cannons  ten  ; 
And  I'll  give  to  you  this  flaxen  curl 

For  cofiee  good, 

To  nil  my  hood, 
To  take  to  my  hungry  men. 

It's  Texas  Battery,  Twenty-two, 

And  they  have  nothing  to  eat. 

My  papa  was  there  until  cut  through 

By  a  cannon  shot, 

From  this  very  spot, 
As  reapers  cut  down  the  wheat. 

"Your  flag  has  more  stripes  and  stars  than  ours; 

Your  coats  are  a  pretty  blue  ; 

You've  lots  to  eat  —  I've  watched  you  for  hourg; 

My  men  would  be  glad, 

They  said,  if  they  had 
Your  food  and  tobacco,  too. 

"  So  I  slipped  away  when  no  one  knew, 

And  came  down  across  the  glen, 

To  beg  some  food  of  you  *  Yanks'  in  blue; 

I  know  you'll  be  good, 

And  fill  my  hood, 
To  take  to  my  hungry  men." 


78  TJie  Little  "  Confederate." 

With  best  they  had  they  loaded  her  down, 

Those  generous  boys  in  blue. 

"  What  lots  of  tobacco— it  fills  my  gown ! 

Here's  each  a  kiss, 

And  after  this 
I'll  not  let  'em  shoot  at  you  I " 

"  See  here,  Little  Miss ! "  said  gunner  Drew, 

"  What  was  your  father's  name  ? 

For  it  was  my  gun  that  cut  him  through  I 

And  I  tell  you  what, 

'Twas  a  sorry  shot, 
But  I,  dear,  was  not  to  blame  I " 

"  Don't  feel  so  bad,  Mr.  Gunner  man, 
Or  you'll  set  me  cry  in'  again ! 
He's  gone  to  heaven  if  any  one  can ; 

For  I've  heard  his  prayer, 

To  be  taken  there, 
By  the  One  who  died  for  men. 

I've  been  so  lonely  since  he  went  away, 

Up  yonder  to  see  my  ma ; 

I'd  never  go  back,  if  you'd  let  me  stay ; 

But  sit  on  your  lap, 

Mr.  Gunner  chap, 
For  you  look  just  like  my  pa. 


The  Little  "  Confederate."  79 

My  papa's  name  ?    What's  the  matter  with  you, 

You've  grown  so  awfully  pale  ? 

His  name  was  Captain  John  Gailord  Drew  1 

The  gunner  moaned  I 

The  gunner  groaned  1 
"My  God!    'Twos  my  brother  *  Gail  M  " 

Those  batteries  roared  like  heaven's  thunder— 
When  battle  was  on  next  day ; 

While  Vicksburg  tumbled— 

And  Pemberton  grumbled — 
And  wounded  found  time  to  pray  j 

One  victory  more — 

Our  flag  floated  o'er 
Eebellion's  banner  now  torn  asunder; 

And  fields  were  red 

With  dying  and  dead — 
Thus  battles  are  won,  they  say — 
Those  gunners  saw,  with  silent  wonder, 

Their  little  '  Confed.' 

Lead  Uncle  Ed 
To  that  grave  just  over  the  way, 

WThere  tears  of  the  Blue 

The  earth  soaked  through, 
Till  they  wet  the  face  of  the  Gray !  • 


80  The  Mutilated  Soldier. 


THE  MUTILATED  SOLDIER 

"When  Billy  Gardner  went  to  war 

He  wept  to  that  degree, 
His  sweetheart,  Minnie,  said  he'd  best 

Go  with  the  infant-ry  ! 

He  said:   My  dear,  be  faithful, 

And  I'll  be  true  to  you ; 
And  write  love-letters  often ; 

She  said :  "  O,  bittet-deaux." 

His  ear  was  shot  off  in  the  fight : 

He  scampered  to  the  rear, 
And  said  a  ball  came  whistling 

A  little  bit  tune^n-ear. 

A  comrade  said :  When  sweetheart  hears 

She'll  not  have  you  at  all : 
Or  say  she  can-won  other  love, 

Then  have  a  Minnie-bawl. 


The  Mutilated  Soldier.  si 

He  next  was  wounded  in  the  side, 

His  blouse  with  gore  was  wet ; 
He  said  :  'tis  but  dyspepsia — 

I  have  a  bayon-et. 

And  when  the  wound  was  quite  healed  up 

He'd  oft  point  to  the  scar, 
And  claim  the  port  hole  in  his  side 

Made  him  a  man-o'^war. 

A  mortar  shell  took  off  a  leg — 

"  O,  Doctor,  must  I  die  ?  " 
"  Not  yet,"  the  kindly  surgeon  said — 

"  Unless  it  mortar-fy." 

Pray,  comrades,  send  a  message  home, 

By  quick  te-leg-raphy  ; 
And  give  my  love  this  boon,  my  last 

And  only  leg-I-see. 

I  hoped  to  make  an  officer, 

And  ride  about  in  saddle — 
Ambition's  lost  its  chiefest  prop ; 

They've  shot  off  half  my  straddle. 

You're  late  at  drill,  the  Captain  said : 

I  can't  mark-time,  said  he ; 
And  if  I  use  my  gun  for  crutch 

A  stand  of  arms  I'll  be. 


82  The  Mutilated  Soldier. 

One  half  my  understanding's  gone ; 

What's  left  I'll  try  to  save  ; 
And  yet  there's  precious  little  hope 

With  one  leg  in  the  grave. 

Both  arms  went  off:  disarmed  at  last 
He  cried :  War  hath  no  charms ; 
Kind  comrades,  pick  these  members  up, 
And  help  me  shoulder-arms. 

To  arms !  I  cried  when  war  broke  out ; 

Then  arms  were  furnished  free ; 
And  now  I  cry  again  in  hopes 

Two-arms  they'll  furnish  me. 

I'm  fit  for  naught  in  war  or  peace, 
Save  Senate  Hall  debate ; 

I  might  succeed  in  politics, 
For  I  can  stump  the  State. 

A  bullet  next  took  out  an  eye ; 

He  ran  with  all  his  might, 
And  swore  he'd  never  fight  again, 

But  keep  well  out-of-sight. 

I  am  not  cross-eyed,  now,  he  said, 

For  one's  an  empty  socket ; 
I'll  keep  one  eye  upon  the  foe, 
"•  The  other  in  my  pocket. 


The  Mutilated  Soldier.  83 

They  found  him  sleeping  on  his  post ; 

He  answered  with  a  sigh  : 
The  charge  is  false,  dear  Captain,  for 

I  only  closed  one  eye. 

Last  night  you  stationed  me  out  there 

To  guard  the  "  U.S.  A.," 
And  closely  watch — when  you  know  well 

I  can  not"  a  &  4." 

You  are  too  blind,  the  Captain  saidj 

You  must  examined  be : 
I  am  content,  he  then  replied, 
For  I'll  be  marked  "  /.  C." 

A  saber  cut  upon  the  scalp 

Soon  solved  this  warlike  riddle : 
He'll  be  a  dude  forevermore : 

His  hair  parts  in  the  middle. 

The  Captain  said,  with  quiet  grace : 

My  ranks  you  now  deform ; 
You  must  not  come  on  dress  parade 

Till  you're  more  uniform. 

At  Eoll  Call  answered  thus  his  name : 

To  truth  I  must  adhere  ; 
More  than  a  quarter  absent,  sir ; 

Not  quite  three  quarters  here. 


84  Tho  Mutilated  Soldier. 

When  war  was  done  they  all  went  home 
He  caught  his  Minnie's  eye, 

And  said :  the  war  is  broken  up, 
And  so  indeed  am  I. 

And  when  he  asked  her  if  she'd  wed, 
She  answered  with  a  laugh, 

And  said :  "  I've  half  a  notion,  sir, 
But  want  the  other  half. 

I  would  assuredly,  she  said, 
Accept  you  with  impunity ; 

But  fear  you  are  not  able  to 
Embrace  the  opportunity. 

I  promised  once  to  marry  you, 
She  said,  with  smile  quite  bland ; 

Pray  tell  me,  should  I  take  your  heart 
Unless  I  get  your  hand  ? 

'Twould  be  an  outrage,  sir,  indeed, 

To  rob  one  so  bereft ; 
For,  should  I  take  away  your  heart 

You'd  have  so  little  left. 

How  shall  we  manage  if  we're  wed, 

You  have  so  little  pelf? 
Can  you  support  a  wife  while  yon 

Can  not  support  yourself? 


The  Mutilated  Soldier.  85 

I'll  marry  you,  but  still  I  fear 

'Twill  make  my  friends  all  laugh 
To  hear  me  introduce  you  as 

My  all,  my  better  half. 

There's  one  plan  will  support  us  well  ; 

'Tis  all  you're  fitted  for : 
Go  in  a  Dime  Museum  as 

A  relic  of  the  war. 

When  asked  if  he  had  been  to  war 

He  answered,  quick  ;  you  bet ; 
And  if  I'm  not  mistaken,  friends, 

The  most  of  me's  there  yet. 

When  ladies  decorate  the  graves 

This  courtesy  is  shown  : 
They  give  him  flowers,  and  bid  him  go 

And  decorate  his  own. 


86  Potomac. 


POTOMAC  I 

Delivered  at  nth  Annual  Reunion  of  the  Society  of  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac,  San  Francisco,  August  2, 1886. 


All  hail  to  the  North  !  and  all  hail  to  the  South  I 

Nations  only  are  born  at  the  cannon's  mouth  I 

There  is  sometimes  a  rain,  and  there's  sometimes^  a  drouth, 

And  there's  sometimes  a  flood, 

When  the  land  swims  in  blood ; 
But  there's  no  stronger  Union  a  people  may  know 
Than  a  Nation  cemented  by  life's  crimson  flow. 

When  the  great  slumb'ring  guns  of  old  Sumpter  awoke, 
And  clamored  Eebellion  in  first  battle  smoke, 

The  great  North  heard  the  cry 

Echoed  back  from  the  sky ! 
On  learning  its  import,  at  first  they  were  dumb  ! 
Then  shouted :  "  'Tis  war !    Be  it  so  I    Let  it  come  1 1 " 

An  army  sprang  up  as  the  storm  comes  at  sea; 

Or  the  peace-ladened  air,  when  the  winds  are  set  freel 

Gath'ring  fury  anon, 

This  fierce  cyclone  moved  on — 

Till  down  went  the  foes  of  this  heaven-cherished  Nation  I 
And  Slavery  lay  buried  'neath  wild  desolation. 


Potomac.  87 


The  miner  has  left  his  rich  ledge  in  the  gorge ! 
The  fire  has  gone  out  at  the  old  smithy  forge — 

And  the  apron  lies  down 

On  the  anvil's  bright  crown, 

And  the  helper  no  more  hears  the  hammer's  alarm  I 
For  there's  much  sharper  steel  in  the  smith's  brawny -arm. 

Left  to  rust  is  the  scythe  in  the  half-mown  swath  ! 
While  the  tailor,  rigged  out  in  new  government-cloth, 

Never  fails  to  make  bruit 

Of  his  ready-made  suit  1 

And  the  "cap"  takes  the  place  of  the  farmer's  broad  brim? 
For  he's  turned  from  the  furrow  that  turns  oft  from  him  ! 

Comes  the  hunter  from  out  the  wild  haunts  of  the  stag ! 
'Cause  he  heered  how  that  some  one  had  fired  on  the  flag ! 

If  they'd  tell  him  the  name 

He'd  go  huntin'  that  game — 
With  his  old-fashioned  rifle,  but  no  haversack  ! 
He'd  be  durned  if  he'd  carry  that  thing  on  his  back  I 

The  mother  stands  waiting  that  youth  from  the  bank ; 

She  clings  to  his  neck  as  he  walks  to  the  rank— 
And  his  cheeks  are  still  wet 
Where  their  hot  tears  have  met  I 

But  useless  the  tears  that  make  mother-eyes  red, 

When  a  youth  by  his  country's  fair  Goddess  is  led  I 


Potomac. 


And  yet  they  keep  gathering  and  marching  away  ! 
Has  the  Nation  turned  soldier — and  allin-a-day  ? 

There's  the  father  and  son  ! 

While  the  miller  takes  gun, 

With  the  dust  of  the  wheat  still  whitening  his  hair  1 
Pray,  where  are  they  going,  with  this  martial  air  ? 

In  solid  battalions — a  '  thrice  armed '  fate — 
They  go,  this  great  question  to  arbitrate, 
With  their  glittering  steel 
And  the  gun's  rumbling  wheel : — 
Shall  the  old  Stars  and  Stripes  be  forbidden  to  fly 
In  the  land  of  its  birth}  it  has  hallowed  for  aye  f 

Up  from  the  South,  with  the  trappings  of  war, 

Came  Chivalry  dragging  a  Juggernaut  car ! 
In  its  progress  of  woe 
Crushing  both  friend  and  foe  I 

While  the  blood  of  the  victims  bespattered-the- guise 

Of  Slavery — Moloch  of  sacrifice  1 

Two  millions  of  men,  by  opinions  estranged ! 
By  shedding  of  blood  shall  opinions  be  changed  ? 

Let  brothers  remain, 

And  opinions  be  slain  1 

Brave  Southrons,  pray  put  that  strange  banner  aside  1 
And  save  this  great  Nation  its  first  fratricide! 


Potomac.  89 


You  will  not  ?    Then  strike  the  hoarse  tocsin  of  war  I 
And  opinion  abide  with  the  Conqueror  1 

On  the  banks  of  Bull  Eun 

The  great  conflict  begun  ! 
And  out  ran  the  life-wine,  in  crimson  libation  ; 
While  on  rushed  the  stream  with  its  red  irrigation  1 

On  the  banks  of  the  Eapidan,  stretching  away, 
In  a  low,  tangled  forest,  ambushes  the  "  Gray  "  ; 

Covered  up,  as  with  cloak, 

By  the  thick,  scraggy  oak ! 

Down  there  in  the  "  Wilderness"  fight  they  with- Lee, 
As  Pharaoh's  host  struggled  in  the  Eed  Sea. 

The  cannon  are  useless — those  chariots  of  steel — 
As  the  war-carts  of  Pharaoh,  wanting  a  wheel. 

No  cavalry  rush 

Through  the  pine  and  the  brush  ! 
Yet  Potomac's  brave  infantry  wade  through  the  flood 
Of  crimson  dyed  foliage — Eed  Sea  of  blood  1 

At  Cold  Harbor,  when  ordered  to  second  attack, 

With  names  writ  on  paper  and  pinned  to  their  back — 
Death's  authentic  clue — 
Went  those  brave  boys  in  "  blue" 

To  battle,  determined  to  conquer  or  die 

With  their  face  to  the  dust  and  their  back  to  the  sky ! 


Potomac. 


Down  the  ranks  Glory  strides,  thus  labeling  her  dead 
Witkher  own  autograph,  just  a  few  hours  ahead  I 

Tears  rained  from  the  skies, 

Euing  such  sacrifice  ; 

Like  the  Christ  walking  Calvary  bearing  his  crosa; 
While  Pity  walked  after,  lamenting  the  loss. 

Sweet  Goddess  of  Liberty,  never  know  fear  I 
No  power  on  earth  conquers  thy  volunteer  ! 

Fighting  on  while  they  bled 

O'er  the  enemy's  dead  — 

Was  a  deed  of  such  desperate  courage  sublime  — 
Like  the  "Charge  of  Six  Hundred"—  'twill  live  to^all  time  ! 


At  the  first  of  the  siege  —  in  an  old  Eichmond 
Jeff  Daris  was  knelt  in  religious  research, 
When  a  shell  struck  the  steeple, 
And  frightened  the  people  I 
He  stopped  his  devotions,  beginning  to  swear, 
On  learning  the  devil  had  answered  his  prayer  1 


He  rushed  out  bewildered,  like  one  at  a  fire, 
And  grabbed  up  his  step  -mother's  kitchen-attire  1 

There  was  no  other  plan 

For  this  versatile  man  — 
And  the  chief  of  that  quondam  Confederation 
To  mademoiselle  made  a  quick  transformation. 


Potomac.  91 


Jeff  thought  to  escape  through  the  long  Union  line, 
In  bustle  and  hoops  and  a  loose  crinoline ; 

But  the  wicked  old  flirt 

Kept  raising  the  skirt ; — 

Till  the  soldiers  observed,  as  she  ambled  and  skirred, 
This  doughty  old  woman  was  booted  and  spurred/ 

To  Middleto'n,  southward,  from  Winchester  town, 
A  black  horse,  with  Sheridan,  comes  dashing  down  1 

On  the  back  of  that  steed 

Sits  the  one  man  they  need  ! 

He's  "  twenty  "  !  he's  "  fifteen  "  !  he's  "  ten  "  !  miles-away! 
Another  "  five  "  miles,  and  he's  right  in  the  fray  ! 

Who  ever  dare  claim  that  the  Southrons  ride  ill ! 
For  they  rode  passing  well  at  old  Fisher's  Hill ! 

In  that  great  steeple-chase, 

Called  the  "  Woodstock  Kace," 
Phil.  Sheridan  rode,  but  the  Kebels  who  fled 
Came  under  the  wire  just  a  good  neck  ahead  I 

How  fiercely  they  rode  !    'Twas  a  terrible  canter 
Like~the  Phantom-chased  ride  of  yojing  Tarn  O'Shanter ! 

With  feet  in  the  gyves, 

They  rode  for  their  lives ; 

For  they  heard  on  the  wind,  such  demoniac  laughter, 
They  knew  either  Phil,  or  the  devil  was  after ! 


92  Potomac. 


Lee  thought  that  "  Five  Forks"  in  a  road  were  too  many, 

And.starting  off  cross-lots,  he  didn't  take  any, 
For  he  said :  "  I'll  cut  through ! " 
Phil,  said :  "  D d  if  you  do  ! " 

Lee  first  thought  he  would,  and  then  thought  he  wouldn't ; 

The  fact  that  he  didn't  was  proof  that  he  couldn't ! 

No  hero  e'er  conquered^  a  more  stubborn  foe ; 
And  never  did  captor  such  courtesy  show 

As  Grant  did  to  Lee  ; 

This  was  his  decree : 

"  Let  officers  freely  retain  their  side  arms, 
And  soldiers  their  horses  for  tilling  the  farms  1" 

One  could  conquer  the  world  with  such  retinue: 
A  phalanx  of  patriots — brave  boys  in  blue  I 

This  great  leader  thought 

No  army  e'er  fought 

So  bravely !    Each  soldier  a  true  volunteer  1 
Each  soldier  a  freeman !    Each  soldier  his  peer  I 

The  palm,  unto  him,  must  all  history  yield 
Who  ne'er  lost  a  baj-tle  and  never  a  field  I 

While  Potomac's  great  host 

Of  this  glory  may  boast : — 

By  the  world-honored  Grant  our  great  army  was  led  1 
Immortal  his  fame :  though  Ulysses  be  dead  I 


Potomac,. 


Antietam,  Ball's  Bluff,  Seven  Oaks,  Malvern  Hill, 
Spottsylvania,  Fredericksburg,  Chancellorsville, 

Petersburg,  Cedar  Creek, 

Where  Early  grew  meek  I 
But  the  list  of  your  battles  can  never  be  known 
Till  we  count  every  drop  and  record  every  groan. 

Mankind  never  waged  such  a  conflict  before! 
Better  foemen  ne'er  met  in  the  battles  of  yore  I 

No  stamp  on  their  faces 

Showed  unequal  races ; 
But  brothers  in  valor,  in  gallantry,  yea, 
E'en  brothers  in  blood  were  the  Blue  and  the  Gray  I 

The  high-mettled  Southron,  undaunted  and  brave, 

That  strange  three-barred  banner  would  bear  to  his  grave, 

But  he'd  win  in  the  fight ! 

For  he  thought  he  was  right  I 
And  it  took  the  best  blood  from  the  palace,  the  cot, 
And  the  tears  and  the  cypress  to  prove  he  was  not  I 

And  these  were  the  foemen  you  met  in  the  fray  1 
And  these  were  the  foemen  who  oft  barred  your  way — 

Going  down  to  a  man, 

In  the  great  caravan 
That  went  to  eternity  rather  than  yield  1 
There's  carnage  in  battle  when  valor's  a-field  1 


94  Potomac. 


Was  victory  easy  ?    Did  their  ranks  subside 

As  the  marsh-reeds  go  down  with  the  rush  of  the  tide  ? 

You  should  have  been  down 

At  Gettysburg  town 

Where  Meade  fought  with  Lee  !  'Twas  the  battle  of  men/ 
Had  Meade  been  defeated — pray  tell  us — what  then  ? 

Lee  brought  Eighty  Thousand  and  knocked  at  the  gate ! 
While  Meade  thundered  back  in  the  round-shot  debate  ! 

In  three  days  the  slain 

So  covered  the  plain 

A  National  graveyard  was  made  of  the  field ! 
We'll  call  it  "  God's  acre  "—for  he  took  the  yield  I 


While  Sherman's  great  army  went  thund'ring  a£ 
Potomac's  battalions  were  strangling  red  war  1 

Thus  they  fought !  thus  they  bled  I 

Till  Slavery  fell  dead 

At  famed  Appomattox,  and  sank  to  her  grave, — 
Close  wrapped  in  the  flag  that's  forbidden  to  wave ! 

Then  our  eagle  came  down  from  the  ramparts  of  heaven— 
Where  our  banner's  great  archetype  proudly  is  driven, — 

Where  the  sun  makes  the  bars, 

And  where  God  fixed  the  stars, 
In  that  grand  Union  Jack  of  perpetual  blue — 
On  his  outstretched  wings  bearing  a  blessing  to  you  / 


Potomac.  95 


A  blessing  from  heaven,  where  Freedom  has  birth  ; 
As  the  blessing  of  Bethlehem  came  to  the  earth 

On  a  bright  Christmas  morn, 

When  the  Savior  was  born  ; 

Such  Peace  and  Good  Will  to  the  world  bringing -then, 
That  centuries  after  we  still  sing :  Amen  1 1 

The  grandest  of  nations  the  world  ever  knew 

Would  then  have  been  severed,  brave  men>  but  for  you  I 

While  the  dead  in  the  breach 

Forever  shall  teach : — 

This  Union  must  stand  as  our  forefathers  gave  it ! 
And  when  'tis  assailed  there  are  brave  sons  to  save  it  1 

The  bayonet,  flattened,  has  turned  to  a  spade ; 

A  capital  scythe  is  the  old  saber  blade ; 
With  the  same  martial  strain, 
Through  the  rich,  golden  grain, 

The  veteran  whistles  while  cutting  his  way,— 

Recalling  war's  harvest  of  Blue  and  of  Gray. 

The  plowman  is  humming  a  mournfnl  refrain, 
While  thinking  of  furrows  they  made  for  the  slain. 

When  the  battle  was  over, 

And  laid  'neath  the  clover, 

Down  there  in  the  trenches  long,  dead  files  of  men 
The  great  Judgment  spade  shall  uncover  again. 


96  Potomac. 

The  Southron  is  tilling,  with  sad,  sun-brown  face, 
Those  acres  enriched  by  the  blood  of  his  race! 

On  the  grave  of  his  foes 

And  his  kindred,  he  sows ; 

While  the  roots  of  the  vine  take  their  life  from  the-dead, 
And  the  wine  of  the  vineyard  forever  is  red. 

Two  teamsters  have  paused  in  the  shade  of  the  pool, 
Kehearsing  the  tricks  of  the  old  army  mule! 

They  have  little  to  say 

Of  the  Blue  and  the  Gray 
Which  they  wore  when  the  garments  meant  shedding  of 

blood— 
They're  discussing  the  mule  and  "  Virginia,  mud." 

The  farmer  is  planting  the  corn  in  the  row ; 
His  boy  and  Ms  gun  have  the  best  of  the-crow ; 

The  boy — he  may  die! 

The  crow — he  may  fly  ! 
That  old  army  gun  is  a  treacherous  toy, 
And  may  get  the  best  of  the  crow  and  the  boy ! 

There's  a  smile  on  the  face  of  yon  tailor,  I  note, 
For  a  neighbor  has  brought  him  an  old  army  coat ; 

The  thing  has  been  torn ! 

The  thing  has  been  worn  I 
From  long  force  of  habit,  with  suspicious  air, 
He  raises  the  collar  to  see  what  is  there  I 


Potomac.  97 


As  far  distant  hills  take  the  atmosphere's  hue, 
So  the  Gray  of  Rebellion  appears  to  be  blue ; 

And  those  who  were  foes 

Are  now  changing  clothes — 
The  ranks  of  the  veterans  are  fading  away — 
And  those  who  wore  Blue — are  they  not  wearing  Gray"? 

We  honor  the  living — forget  not  the  dead — 
For  e'en  little  children  lay  flowers  on  their  bed 

To  perfume  their  sleep  ; 

While  fond  mothers  keep 
Still  watching  for  boys  who  will  never  return — 
Though  the  lamp  of  remembrance  at  each  casement  burn* 

They  sleep  on  the  hillside — they  bivouac  the  glades; 

The  grass  standing  sentry  with  soft  saber  blades ! 
Where  the  wild  flower  blooms 
Are  their  banner-wrapped  tombs ; 

Fond  Nature  pays  homage  to  valor  like  this, — 

While  the  Nation  drops  flowers — and  heaven  drops  a  kiss  I 

Comrades  of  Potomac — O,  where  are  the  rest  ? 
With  cartridge-made  buttons  *  sunk  deep  in  each  breast, 

In  grave-faded  Blue, 

At  Death's  grand  Keview, 

With  erstwhile  commanders,  on  yon  distant  shore 
Of  heaven's  fair  Potomac,  they  march  evermore  1 

*  Referring  to  the  custom  of  Veterans  wearing  a  button-badge 
made  of  copper  from  the  empty  shells  gathered  on  the  battle  field. 


Potomac. 


They're  guarding  their  Capital  City  on  high  ; 

Their  Camp-fires  burn  brightly  for  you,  in  the  sky  ! 
There's  a  faith  that  assures 
Their  old  countersign,  yours  ! 

That  man  who  for  Country  and  Liberty  dies 

Needs  no  further  passport,  methinks,  to  the  skies  I 


Independence  Day.  99 


INDEPENDENCE  DAY. 

Delivered  at  San  Francisco,  July  4th,  1886. 


THE   FIRST   KNOWN   YANKEE   NOTION. 

In  days  of  old,  certain  patriots  bold, 

When  England  grew  pedantic, 
Unfurled  to  the  gale  the  Mayflower's  sail 

And  ferried  o'er  the  Atlantic. 

•On  Plymouth  rock  was  landed  the  stock 

With  modest  oriflamb 
"Who  framed  the  state  we  perpetuate, 

Entitled  our  Uncle  Sam. 

Our  freedom  achieved,  was  there  conceived, 
The  first  known  "  Yankee  notion," 

Of  the  "  Lion"  born  and  the  "  Unicorn," 
But  on  this  side  the  ocean. 

The  infant  grew,  as  infants  do, 

Into  a  youthful  nation ; 
When  the  English  yoke  began  to  choke 

And  it  cried  for  emancipation. 


100  Independence  Day. 


Then  England  thought,  as  England  ought, 

We're  losing  by  relaxation ; 
We'll  keep  them  down  by  oppression's  frown 
And  the  grinding  heel — taxation. 

So  she  sent  o'er  the  sea  a  cargo  of  tea, 

With  a  deal  more  tax  than  cargo ; 
Which  so  raised  the  ire  of  the  patriot  sire 

He  placed  on  that  ship  his  embargo. 

Those  patriots  old,  so  we  are  told, 

Didn't  like  tax  in  their  tea  ; 
So  they  threw  it  away  in  Boston  Bay, 

For  the  mermaids  down  in  the  sea. 

Then  John  Bull  came  across  the  main 

To  stop  this  Yankee  row ; — 
He  cared  not  a  jot  for  the  patriot — 

He's  more  respectful  now. 

>v 

Bnt  Washington  George,  the  man  in  charge, 

Before  he  began  to  strike, 
Held  up  his  saber  and  said :  "  Kind  neighbor, 

Whichever  end  you  like." 

And  what,  think  you,  was  his  choice  of  the  two  f 

This  stubborn  English  John 
Preferred  the  blade — the  mistake  he  made 

Was  proved  to  him  anon. 


Independence  •  Dag.  „ 


They  served  him  right  on  Charleston  height  ; 

Like  the  story  of  "  Jack  a.nd  Gill," 
He  came  tumbling  down  and  broke  hb  crown, 

At  the  foot  of  Bunker  Hill ! 

Like  herds  of  cattle  they  came  into  battle, 
At  Lexington,  Monmouth,  Yorktown ; 

But  always,  'tis  said,  they  dropped  their  bread, 
Which  fell  with  the  butter  side  down. 

His  lordship  fine  thought  he  would  dine 

On  Yankee  tenderloin — 
But  the  very  first  fight  took  the  appetite 

And  the  sword  of  this  Lord  Burgoyne, 

So  one  hot  July  day  John  Hancock  did  say 
To  a  large  continental  attendance ; 

I've  a  Yankee  notion  to  make  a  motion 
For  Declaration  of  Independence. 

I  thought  about  writing  one  out 
In  the  form  of  a  "  Thanatopsis  "  ; 

'Tis  too  long,  indeed,  for  one  to  read, 
So  I'll  give  you  a  short  synopsis. 

When,  in  human  events,  with  good  intent^ 
Two  nations  are  tired  of  sticking  ; 

If  one  has  the  grit  to  make  the  split, 
There's  no  use  in  the  other's  kicking. 


Independence  Day. 


W«  may  be  the  scion  of  the  "  British  Lion  **—- 

But  listen  to  my  harangue : — 
The  American  crow  will  let  'em  know 

We  can  run  our  own  shebang. 

This  striped  rag  is  our  own  flag, 

And  floats  in  our  own  breezes ; 
And  England  may  stay  across  the  Bay 

And  do  as  she  "  durned  "  pleases. 

That  great  Declaration  made  by  the  nation 

Tells  the  reason  why, 
With  great  demonstration  and  more  perspiration^ 

We  celebrate  Fourth  of  July. 


Independence  Day.  103 


OUB  COUNTRY.  * 

He  who  bears  not  the  love  of  his  country  at  heart 

On  some  desert  should  dwell,  from  his  fellows  apart ; 

Where  the  voice  of  no  mortal,  the  song  of  no  bird, 

Nor  even  the  cry  of  the  jackal  is  heard ; 

Where  his  footstep  falls  hushed  in  the  dry,  yielding  sand, 

To  plod  on  alone  in  a  sun-blistered  land ; 

With  no  living  thing  with  which  to  converse ; 

For  his  heart  is  a  desert,  his  being  a  curse. 

Who  loves  not  his  country  loves  not  his  God ; 
His  soul  feeds  on  treason,  rebellion  and  fraud. 
'Tis  better  for  him  that  he  dwell  off,  alone, 
Where  silence  oppresses  life's  dull  monotone ; 
Or,  far  better  still,  since  created  in  scorn, 
This  lep'rous  nonentity  had  not  been  born. 

We  honor  that  man,  where'er  he  may  roam, 
Who  gtill  loves  his  country  next  to  his  home, 
And  sings  from  his  heart  this  great  National  song : 

We  honor  the  Russian  who  plods  through  the  snow 
"  My  Country  forever  I    Be  she  right  or  wrong  I " 
To  fight  for  his  flag,  though  the  world  be  his  foe. 


104  Independence  Day. 


And  the  Turk,  in  the  land  that  Mahommet  has  giv'n, 
Whose  cimeter  curves  like  the  crescent  in  heaven. 

We  honor  the  German  who  holds  as  divine 

His  great  country's  goddess,  his  loved  "  Wacht  am  Rhine." 

All  hail  to  Great  Britain !  that  land  of  renown ! 
On  whose  mighty  kingdom  the  sun  goes  not  down  ! 
In  the  great  world  of  waters  there's  no  breeze  nor  gale 
But  pushes  her  commerce  or  stretches  her  sail. — 
Where  enterprise  carries  the  great  English  tongue 
Old  lands  become  new,  aged  nations  grow  young. 

And  who  does  not  love  this  great  country  of  ours, 
Where  the  blessings  of  heaven  come  down  with  the  showrs 
That  moisten  the  roots  of  that  fruit-bearing  tree 
Our  forefathers  planted  and  called  Liberty ; 
Whose  branches  spread  out  with  a  foliage  vernal — 
A  century's  growth  proving  its  life  eternal  ? 

On  the  North  the  stern  ice-king  stands  guard  in  the  snow; 
From  the  South  at  the  tropics  the  mild  zephyrs  blow, 
All  ladened  with  perfume  that  sweetens  the  air, 
Like  censers  at  church,  when  the  Nation's  at  prayer. 

Huge  mountains,  piled  up,  guard  the  broad  Western  shore 
With  its  famed  GoldenGate,  where  the  sun  is  the  door 
That  drops  in  the  ocean  to  let  us  go  through 
On  our  pathway  to  heaven  !    Don't  it  seem  so  to  you? 


Independence  Day.  105 


At  the  East,  where  the  waves  of  Atlantic  are  hurled, 

Stands  our  l  Liberty-statue^  '  Enlightening  the  World '  • 

Her  mute  lips  uttering  the  law  written  there 

On  her  tablet  of  stone,  lifted  high  in  the  air ; 

As  the  words  of  Jehovah  from  Moses'  lips  fell 

At  Sinai's  mountain  to  great  Israel ; 

Like  the  "  pillar  of  fire,"  that  torch  in  her  hand 

Lights  the  people  of  God  to  this  fair  promised  land. 

This  tribute  from  France  stands  at  Liberty's  door, 

A  token  of  friendship,  a  bond  evermore ! 

And  we  say  to  the  land  of  the  famed  Lafayette, 

When  the  world  turns  to  ashes,  'twill  be  standing  yet ! 

As  the  great  poet  said :  "All  the  world  is  a  stage  "  ; 
So  in  consummate  acting  all  nations  engage. 
Sometimes  a  fierce  tragedy  takes  the  play, 
More  often  'tis  comedy — laugh  as  you  may  : — 
While  old  "  Uncle  Sam,"  along  with  the  rest, 
To  amuse  the  queer  public  is  doing  his  best. 

Though  Russia  lays  claim  to  a  very  large  map, 
Her  soldiers  are  frozen  with  every  cold  snap ; 
She  keeps  working  South  without  leave  or  law — 
She  wants  to  get  down  where  the  nation  can  thaw  ; — 
To  enlarge  her  dominion  ?  No  !  No  I  That's  all  "  bosh  "• 
'Tis  warm  water  she  needs,  so  the  soldiers  can  wash. 

At  enormous  expense  France  is  fighting  Tonquin ; 
It's  the  toss  of  a  copper  which  language  will  win. 


106  Independence  Day. 


We  suggest  arbitration  between  these  great  pow'rs  ; 
If  France  wants  the  Chinese  she  can  come  and  take  ours ; 
And  we'll  throw  in  a  statue,  much  bigger,  more  lasting, 
That  will  put  in  the  shade  this  Bartholdi's  great  casting* 

Baby  Greece  has  been  trying  to  pick  up  a  row 
With  the  Old  man  of  Turkey — but  didn't  know  how  ; 
When  all  the  big  nations  with  navies  so  stern 
Came  'round  and  boycotted  the  little  concern. 

Old  Bismark  sits  there  in  a  mezzanine  box, 
Close  watching  the  play,  with  the  eye  of  a  fox ; 
His  part  of  the  programme,  as  he  understands, 
Is  furnishing  orchestras,  raising  brass  bands  ; 
But  somehow  he  never  allows  them  to  use 
China-fiddle,  nor  bag  pipe,  nor  harp  of  the  Jews. 

De  Lesseps — first  comedian — strides  through  the  play ; 

His  part  is  to  dig  the  great  Jsthmus  away  ; 

But  such  is  the  death-rate  he  can't  get  ahead, 

For  most  of  his  digging  is  graves  for  the  dead. 

Yet  still  the  great  Frenchman  keeps  diggin'  and  hopin* 

There'll  come  a  great  earthquake  and  burst  the  thing  open. 

Old  England's  a-broil  with  her  "  Home  Rule  "  jars, 
About  "  wearing  the  green  "—like  the  Hayes  Valley  cars. 
To  the  "  tight  little  Island  "  it's  worse  than  a  drug, 
To  take  "  Irish  whiskey"  from  a  Glad-stone  jug. 


Independence  Day.  107 


In  Ireland,  'tis  said,  pedagogues  at  the  school 

Whip  all  the  small  boys  with  the  English  Home  Rule. 

While  our  own  President  is  too  busy  of  late, 

With  the  newly  annexed  matrimonial  state, 

To  attend  to  our  troubles — as  most  people  wish : 

The  Chinese,  Apaches  and  mackerel  fish — 

With  our  fishing  smacks  captured  in  Canada's  tide — 

He,  too,  takes  a  smack  by  kissing  the  bride. 

If  Canada's  rude  we'll  have  to  "  out  flank  'er  "— 
And  take  with  the  fish  every  renegade  banker. 

And  what  with  Apaches  we've  trouble  enough, 
Who  wear  out  our  soldiers  at  "  Blind  man's  Buff." 
But  where  they  are  now  no  one  seems  to  know, 
Not  even  their  cousins  in  Old  Mexico. 

Great  America,  hail !  summer  fallow  of  God, 
Where  Liberty's  breeze  stoops  to  kiss  the  green  sod. 
From  the  north  to  the  Gulf-land,  from  ocean  to  ocean r. 
Thy  sons  worship  thee  with  patriot  devotion. 
From  the  earth  to  the  blue  vault  of  heaven  away, 
Kises  up  the  grand  anthem  of  Freedom  to-day. 
Thine  eagle  spreads  out  his  broad  wings  in  the  air,. 
All  laden  down  withthe  nation'  s  prayer, 
And  soars  up  aloft  through  the  blue  vault  and  all, 
Till  he  perches  at  last  on  eternity's  wall ; 


108  Independence  Day. 


Up  through  the  blue  ether  no  mortal  has  trod, 
His  charge  laying  down  at  the  throrre  of  God. 

As  bulwarks  of  freedom,  defiantly  stand 

Thy  mountains  plowed  up  by  the  Almighty's  hand. 

Thine  oceans  stretch  out  from  either  shore, 

A  safeguard  perpetual  forevermore. 

No  servile  soldiers  defend  thy  broad  realm ; 
No  heavy  crowned  monarch  sits  at  thy  helm ; 
'Thy  soldiers  are  sons  from  the  anvil,  the  plow, 
They  stand  ever  ready,  they're  ready  e'en  now, 
To  gather  by  millions  in  battle  array, 
From  the  North,  from  the  South,  both  the  "  Blue  and  the 
Gray." 

No  incision  so  deep  by  sharp,  saber  steel, 
But  the  Amor  Patriae  always  will  heal. 

The  "  Blue  and  the  Gray"  are  in  battle  no  longer, 
Fierce  war  has  cemented  their  brotherhood  stronger . 

Ere  the  war-trumps  last  echo  had  died  away, 
Or  chaplain  to  God  could  his  orisons  say, 
With  shouts  of  thanksgiving  for  battle  release, 
Both  armies  returned  to  the  arts  of  peace. 
History  gives  us  no  parallel  case, 
For  every  soldier  returned  to  his  place. 


Independence  Day.  109> 


'Twas  American  purely,  a  God-given  dower, 

And  therein  consists  this  nation's  great  power. 

No  standing  army  guards  mountain  and  dell ; 

Each  man  guards  his  own  and  improves  it  as  well ; 

For  all  the  army  this  nation  can  boast 

Is  a  few  scattered  squads  like  the  frontier  post  ; 

Not  intended  as  safeguards  of  the  nation 

But  as  chaperones  to  a  Reservation, 

Whose  duty  it  is  to  keep,  no  doubt, 

Not  the  Indians  in,  but  the  citizens  out. 

But  once  let  war's  clarion  notes  be  rung, 

Like  a  frenzied  tigress,  mad  for  her  young, 

From  the  North,  from  the  South,  from  either  shore^ 

They'll  gather  by  millions,  and  millions  more, 

And  then  (I  speak  with  more  pride  than  vanity) 

America  defies  all  the  rest  of  humanity. 

Great  America,  hail !  summer  fallow  of  God, 

Where  Liberty's  breeze  stoops  to  kiss  the  green  sod. 

Thy  resources  boundless  by  bounty  divine, 

In  the  gold  of  the  harvest  and  gold  of  the  mine. 

Industry  keeps  thee  ahead  of  thy  neighbor  ; 

While  thrift  wins  thee  more  than  the  bullet  or  saber. 

Mountain  and  stream  divide  brother  from  brother ; 
They  bridge  the  one  and  tunnel  the  other. 
They  polished  the  shaft  and  adjusted  the  wheel, 
And  the  great  iron  horse  all  a-glitter  with  steel, 


110  Independence  Day. 


Drags  through  the  mountain  and  over  the  plain, 
Humanity  freighted,  the  long,  rumbling  train. 

Who  thought  the  light'ning  would  ever  inspire 
Life  in  the  veins  of  a  slender  wire  ? 
Yet  they  belted  the  globe  and  threaded  the  sea, 
And  the  quickened  tongue  of  the  telegraph  key 
To  the  listening  ear  now  whispers  the  thought 
On  a  delicate  wire  from  antipodes  brought. 

To  claim  all  the  glory  is  not  our  intention, 
Yet  everything  new  seems  a  Yankee  invention. 
This  Yankee,  distinctive,  is  of  strange  formation, 
You  find  his  like  in  no  other  nation  ; 
He's  lean  and  slender,  he's  lank  and  tall, 
And  speaks  with  a  sort  of  elongated  drawl  ; 
The  dogondest  critter  that  ever  one  sees, 
And  always  a-gettin'  new-fangled  idees. 
There  ain't  no  enterprise  you  can  mention, 
That  he  haint  tried  with  some  invention . 
If  the  world's  ever  blest  with  perpetual  motion, 
I'll  bet  ten  to  one  it's  ^Yankee  notion. 

America  rests  in  the  ocean's  broad  arms ! 

Not  lured  to  her  slumber  by  siren's  charms ; 

But  the  rocking  of  billows  on  either  shore, 

And  the  waves'  lullaby  sung  to  her  evermore. 

Forever  and  aye  shall  her  glory  increase, 

While  the  ocean  keeps  singing  this  anthem  of  peace. 


Independence  Day. 


Were  I,  great  nation,  to  give  thee  a  toast, 

This  would  I  say,  without  idle  boast  ;— 

"  Land  of  the  freeman,  to  Liberty  giv'n 

The  pride  of  the  earth  and  the  favored  of  heaven, 

Broken  from  Europe  by  thunderbolts  hurled— 

Shaved  out  in  mid-ocean  to  balance  the  world  ! 

When  'Father  Time'  writes  thine  epitaph 

The  world's  great  glory  is  lessened  by  half." 


112  Independence  Day. 


APOSTROPHE   TO   THE  EAGLE. 

Fear  not,  grand  eagle, 

The  bay  of  the  beagle  ! 
No  hunter  his  gun  will  incline  ! 

He's  branded  with  shame 

Whoever  takes  aim 
At  thy  freedom,  a  right  divine  I 

Great  bird,  thou  art  king 

Of  all  that  bear  wing  ! 
And  this  was  thy  country  of  old  I 

'Way  back  in  creation, 

Before  'twas  a  Nation, 
Or  known  to  Columbus,  the  bold, 

With  the  red  man's,  primeval, 

Thy  birthright's  coeval, 
By  Deity  given  in  feoff! 

'Twas  not  his  war  bonnet, 

But  thy  plumage  on  it, 
Made  the  crown  of  the  old  Indian  Chief ! 


Independence  Day.  113 


Like  the  dove  to  the  ark — 

That  ancient  bark, 
When  the  world  was  deluged  for  sin 

Flying  out  on  the  sea 

To  greet  Liberty, 
And  pilot  the  Mayflower  in  ! 

The  sunset  red 

On  the  white  clouds  shed 

Made  stripes  for  our  Goddess  divine  : — 
While  she  stitched  the  bars, 
You  brought  down  the  stars, 

That  completed  the  grand  design. 

'Twas  thy  sweeping  wing 
Did  the  first  breath  bring 

To  the  sail  of  the  great  "  Constitution  " 
While  from  first  to  last 
You  wheeled  'round  her  mast, 

In  the  smoke  of  the  old  Revolution. 

When  those  men  in  "  Gray  " 

Tore  three  stripes  away 
From  that  flag  by  our  forefathers  given, 

'Twas  thy  piercing  call 

Made  the  thunderbolt  fall, 
By  which  fierce  Rebellion  was  riven. 


114  Independence  Day. 


Start  not  from  thy  poise 

At  that  rumbling  noise, 
When  the  lightning  and  storm  disagree  ; 

It  is  not  a  battle, 

Tis  only  the  rattle 
Of  heaven's  artillery. 

From  thine  eyrie,  the  crag. 

Watch  over  thy  flag, 
And  ne'er  let  it  trail  in  the  dust  ! 

Soaring  high  in  the  air 

Ever  this  a?gis  bear  : 
"  fn  Freedom,  and  God  is  our  Trust." 

Fear  not,  grand  eagle, 

The  bay  of  the  beagle  ! 
No  hunter  his  gun  will  incline  ! 

He's  branded  with  shame 

Whoever  takes  aim 
At  thy  freedom,  a  right  divine  ! 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


JUL     5   1935 


AUG  11193C 


/ 


YA  01677 

U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


215468 


